One More Than Company
by kdewitt
Summary: A Life on Mars/Blackpool Crossover. Peter Carlisle finds himself back in the 70s with Sam Tyler. Sam thinks that Peter can help him get back to the future but Peter has his own motives.
1. Chapter 1

-1**One More Than Company Part One**

It was a power struggle every time. Gene Hunt was his boss, his guv, the leader of the pack and the sheriff of Manchester. He never missed a chance to prove he was the alpha male and he was built to defend the title: a roaring lion. Sam on the other hand felt like he was built less to confront and more to evade but never backed down when confronted. He would always put up a fight, never giving up because he couldn't and priding himself on those ethical standards that got him those less-than-loving nicknames: 'ponce,' 'Nancy Drew,' oh and Ray's 'nagging Mother Teresa without the tits' had been a colorful one. This whole world was corrupt, a boozing, sleazy exaggeration of the 70s and Sam never wanted any part of it. Until Gene asked him to, until the fearless cowboy was aided by the cunning outsider and there was something strange but right in the way they changed a world that slowly started to matter.

It was this growing reality that was the most dangerous.

Gene had Sam's arm pinned behind his back as he shoved the DI's face further into the dated green sheets of his bed. Pressing hard against his arse, Sam could feel Gene's familiar bulge against a pair of slipping trousers. The man's breath was hot and heavy against the nape of his neck as he growled in a possessive manner, nipping and biting at his taut shoulder. The pushing and rubbing turned into an easy and rocking rhythm. Gene coerced Sam's face farther into the bed as his own member started to throb for attention, but he was helpless and even starting to choke in the waves of fabric.

"Fuck" was something he managed to gasp in the throes of heated humping and Gene loosened his grip with a teasing laugh. Flipping himself over Sam pushed Gene's hips away defiantly, glaring up at the man in annoyance. Unhindered Gene smirked down at him. Returning the gesture with a grunt he pushed Sam back on to the bed and crawled on top of his lean and tawny DI. Sam stretched and writhed but he stayed.

Gene applied his weight, pinning Sam's upper body against the sheets and inserting himself with ease between those raised legs. A soft gasp escaped Sam's lips as Gene traced the line of his ribs, torso, and hips. Undoing Sam's trousers he relieved that desperate confinement. Once free Gene took Sam in his hand, massaging the pink tip-soft to the touch but hard with want- in a teasing manner before vigorously pumping at Sam's cock.

_Hhnnhhh._ Sam threw his head back along with his eyes in a guttural rush of ecstasy, letting himself go until he forgot he had hands or legs, only himself in Gene's grip. After a few moments he pawed at Gene who let him free the DCI's own hardened cock, running his palm up and down Gene's shaft in steady but eager strokes. Wrapping his thin fingers around that throbbing member he took the man like a handlebar.

Gene had shifted to allow Sam access and the two of them laid on their sides as they beat each other off, sweat glistening off anxious bodies in the dim light with a chorus of hard and frequent moans played against their urgent actions. The Manc Lion leaned in for a bite, kissing Sam deeply and pulling at his lip when he drew back. Sam felt those teeth as they bit into his flesh and stared after the man with an equal hunger when he let go. His darkly demanding look didn't go unanswered as Gene quickly replied to the prompt; instinctively letting go, in one fluid motion he turned Sam over again.

There was another grunt as Gene positioned himself. "No cuffs tonight?"

"Not 'till the bruises heal from last time."

"Dorothy."

A quick smack on the arse cut any reply from Sam who clawed his fingers into the bed sheets and pushed himself against Gene, sliding inside him with two saliva-soaked fingers. Hunt laid another smack down on that tight bum of Tyler's, delighting in the bright red mark that lingered. With enough prep he grabbed his begging cock and eased the head against that round line of waiting muscle, applying pressure until those cheeks gave way to him as he knew they would.

Sam relaxed around the guv, only clenching his muscles in a reactionary manner when Gene surprised him with another slap. Gene pulled him in, pumping that hard cock into his arse in short, powerful thrusts. As he reached down to touch himself Sam moaned without inhibition as every thrust swelled inside him and washed over every tingling nerve until he was craving the next slap as much as the next thrust.

Gene quickened with urgency, hips slapping loudly against Sam's now bright red arse and grunting with the exertion while buzzed with bliss. Digging his fingers into Sam's waist like claws, the lion growled as the race to gratification was nearing an end. Tugging at his own todger in two final motions Sam felt himself come against the sheets with Gene pounding his arse; another white stain faded green. With Sam's satisfied moans as an incentive Hunt released himself inside his DI, pulling out just soon enough to see his cum spill out of that still-red arse.

Sam let his hips fall against the bed lazily, turning his head to the side to watch Gene who pushed a trail of cum up over his tender cheeks and into the small of his back. A shiver ran up his spine at the action and he met Gene's gaze on the bed next him.

"You're wrong about this case you know."

Gene was still leaning over Sam in all of his naked glory, soft and covered in the sweat and juices that had spilled out of him. "Christ Tyler you'd think after shoving something up your jacksie you'd be appreciative and shut your gob."

Sam watched him darkly, fighting with the dozy satisfaction that urged him to rest and the lingering murder that urged him to fight. "I'm being serious Gene. This was a homicide."

Gene studied him. "If you weren't so convincing I'd think you were doing this just to torment me with your nagging."

A smile tugged at Sam's lips. "Maybe I am."

"Thank you Linda Lovelace." DCI Hunt rolled onto his back, insisting that he was going to relax even if his DI wasn't. Wrapping an arm behind his neck he rested against the headboard. "It were drugs that killed him Sam, tweaked out like spastic crammed with roman candles. The murderer is the smack dealing bastard on my patch."

He admired Gene in the dark aftermath of his flat. Looming over him those mildly flexed muscles supported a head that was etched with a protective and determined look. "It's not that simple." He looked away with a soft exasperation. "You didn't read the forensics report did you?"

When he turned back Gene had busied himself digging in the pockets of his camel coat hunting for a pack of smokes. He called back at Sam. "Why can't it ever be easy with you?" Finding several flasks but not the indulgence he was searching for his DCI took a break from the search, taking a swig from the small metallic container. Parting his lips with a contented sigh Sam's curt glare cut off the warm diversion of a single malt. "We know how he died!"

Sam still pressed on. "There were serious signs of sexual assault_ and_ there was a casino token in his mouth. Like some sort of calling card, or warning."

Sliding the flask back into one of his pockets Gene had continued his search. "Did he choke on it?"

DI Tyler frowned. "No."

Finally victorious, Gene leaned back against the head board once again with a pack of cigarettes, smugly placing one in his mouth and lighting it. Breathing out there was a stream of smoke to aid his satisfaction. "Then I'm still right."

"No!" Sam furrowed his brows in frustration and was set on disputing this point till Gene saw it his way, but his superior officer cut him off before there was a chance.

"You'll be happy to know I've got a transfer request from another officer, one of yours, from Hyde. Figure he can 'elp you out with all of your _anxious filing desires_."

"Don't change the-" but Sam's brain overrode that sanctimonious principle of his at the drop of a key word "From Hyde?"

"Yeah 'nother DI."

Sam let the gravity of the statement sink in. Hyde of course was an elusive metaphor for back home. Was it some one that he knew then, or could it be help? It seemed strange to be thinking about escaping now, while he was sitting naked in this ugly green bed with Gene's cum starting to dry against his pale thighs.

"He's temporary Sam. I've had a look at his file. Never in one place more than a few weeks and chances are once this case is over he'll be out of our hair too. "

Sam was silent for a few moments, lost in thought for what this could mean until Gene's voice brought him back, let him focus on where he was. "He were a rent boy then."

"I guess." Sam replied quietly, shifting his thoughts back to the case. It made sense after all, a young male with no real identification: a victim of the sex starved and drug hazed world in which he inhabited. "But why the poker chip?"

"Dunno." Gene offered with all of the insight an after shag fag could give. "Usually they gag on cocks."

Giving Gene a cross look for his insensitivity, Sam continued. "Seems like some one's trying to make a point."

Gene scoffed. "Sex and gambling, point made."

"Maybe, maybe something more."

They sat like that for several minutes, the soft burning of Hunt's fag the only real light to share between them. In the silence it came back to Sam, the worry, the guilt. He had to go home, that wasn't a question but he was starting to become aware of a very dark possibility: would he miss it? This newcomer could be the key that would bring him out of a backwards world. It could be the beginning of the end. Finally. No more beating up witnesses, no more dark age humor, no more incomplete reports, no more Gene. _Oh_. There was that lingering feeling of guilt.

"Speaking of something more," Gene moved on, grinding the burning cigarette butt into an ashtray on the shelf above Sam's bed. It was something Sam kept there just for him, having grown tired of whining about it every time he would put it out on the floor or in an empty bottle of Boddington's. Without needing to speak his intent Sam's DCI turned on him, pressuring his lanky DI's body until it gave in to him.

Sam rolled his eyes and feigned to push himself away from Gene's advances, falling back on to the bed anyways. "You're insufferable." He wanted Gene to take away that fear from him, take away the guilt and the worry. He protected this city with everything he had, could he protect Sam too? _Give it to me Gene_, he would think, _give me a place to belong_.

Gene growled in his ear, his voice musky with the promise of burning tar and a long night. "I like it when you talk dirty."

~~~~

It was the next afternoon and Sam was starting on another cup of coffee when he came, entering with a quirky swagger that was so out of place Sam instantly guessed this was the man they had been waiting for. Yet as the newcomer made his way into the station Sam noticed nothing else seemed to fit that very specific 'I don't belong here because I'm in a coma' profile. There was a look of curiosity and vague displacement at the sight of the dim office and the atmospheric haze of cigarette smoke but not the shock and awe and immediate disdain Sam thought it deserved when first thrust upon some one. The detective inspector of mystery walked closer and Sam concluded that the gait he'd mistaken for distress earlier originated from nothing more than an odd quirk of personality and his attire seemed to support that assessment. Across the new DI's shoulders was draped a gray blazer, about his waist a pair of brown trousers. Peeking out from the blazer was the tell tale wingspan of pink 70's lapels, hugged tight by a blue and navy checkered sweater vest. Tall and lean he had shaggy brown hair and what Sam would later learn was a permanent five o'clock shadow, but what was most entrancing was his eyes: large and luminous with the echoes of laughter and darkness. It was a moment or an eternity later into those eyes when he realized they were looking back at him too.

"Your picture doesn't do you justice." The new DI stood in front of Sam's desk, paying him the greatest attention while utterly ignoring the looks of interest circulating around the station.

"Hang on…they sent us a Scot?" Ray wondered loudly in his usual xenophobic manner, two feet propped up on a stack of files that Sam had earlier expressed some earnestness in him sorting through. The newcomer paid him no heed, waiting patiently for Sam.

DI Tyler swallowed with a dry mouth. "You're the uh, the new DI…from Hyde, yeah?"

"Nope, Glasgow." Was the curt response as he chewed on his thumb. "But I've been. Stiffs in suits, not to much to see. You?"

Sam couldn't swallow that answer either. "You could say."

Done with his thumb the new DI dragged a hand through his hair, bouncing straight back into the disorder he'd arrived in. "I'm gonna come clean with you Sam, your team would be over the rainbow to have you back but-." And here he broke his gaze from him possibly for the first time since arriving. "M'not really sure how."

Sam scoffed at the absurdity of some one jumping in to save him only to get stuck themselves. At the news, his heart leapt into that dry throat and he leaned in closer with cautious necessity.

"You mean…the future?"

He tapped the side of his head urgently, that is until a HA-HARUMPH echoed through a station that had suddenly become quiet. It was Gene standing a few paces from them with a disapproving look. Sam turned back to their newcomer and saw how the soft pale skin of his neck disappeared into the crook of those wiry shoulders. It dawned on him how close they had been. Jerking back sharply he ran into the edge of his desk with a loud thump, creating a new carpet of files on the concrete floor below.

"He um…he's the new, the new DI." Sam explained, covering his mouth in embarrassment as he found a very interesting stain on the floor to attract his attention.

"DI Peter Carlisle." Chimed in the visitor, sparing Sam a knowing but amused look. "From wherever you like, to wherever you like."

"Well we don't usually sniff the new ones." Gene spat at the accused "But since you're a Scot you can go straight from here to the boozer and buy us all a round eh?" Gene looked around him and the other officers gave out their cries of agreement. All for one and one for all, it was Hunt's usual test to see if the new DI would fit in easily to the department he spent so much time molding.

Peter crossed his arms and his smile twinkled. "Aye. Cause I've got nothing better to waste my loose pocket change on."

"Pocket change, on your wages?" Gene clapped Peter on the back "We'll soon fix that." Their DCI turned and announced to the rest of CID. "But just because DI Carlisle here is going to get as all shit faced doesn't mean you lot have an excuse to be as useless as you will be tomorra morning. Now Mush." He waved his hands and the group scattered to do repetitive tasks that would make them appear busy until beer o'clock rolled around.

Sam waited a moment or two for the other's to shuffle away before giving Gene grief. "So you don't welcome every new officer with a nice little punch to the gut?"

Hunt smirked. "We all know you're a special case Tyler." Sam looked away in annoyance unsure if that was a comment on their relationship or his sanity. "God help me if I had to deal with two of you." Gene sized Peter up with a brief glance as if double checking. "You don't go home and wank off to the smell of detergent do you?"

Sam gaped at Gene's question. Just because he had explicitly stated that he enjoyed the smell of fresh laundry and Hunt had actually been wearing a fresh shirt that day instead of his usual wrinkled, whiskey soaked attire does not make that an appropriate line of interrogation for the new DI.

Peter raised a thick eyebrow in curiosity but answered smoothly. "I think what I go home and wank off to is my own affair. But I'm flattered by your curiosity."

Sam could see his DCI had missed the sardonic jib buried in the accent. It was Gene's turn to feel uncomfortable but still ignoring the indignation written all over Sam's face he switched over to safer matters. "He's yours Tyler. You're free to go all Mary Poppins on the Collator's Den but don't you dare touch my office." With that he left them to return to his sanctuary and no doubt continue some hard work on a bottle of scotch.

"Who was that ray of sunshine?" Peter asked, following the retreating DCI with his eyes.

"DCI Hunt, otherwise know as 'the guv'." Sam said it with all of the sarcasm it deserved but he couldn't help smiling to himself.

"You know I'm willing to bet," Peter mused, chewing on a pen from his desk that Sam just noticed was missing. "that a man like that who glowers and shouts cause he fancies himself the leader of his pack," removing it from his mouth he gestured with the pen to make his point, a fresh coat of saliva catching the light, "purrs like a kitten when you get him alone."

Sam scoffed at the cheeky bugger and slyly stole a glance at Gene's office. He was there watching them through the blinds but after a campy wave from Peter he scowled and whited out their view.

Carlisle shrugged "Or not." and tucked the pen into his jacket pocket, his hands into his trousers. "Seems like we both have catch up duty, care for a cuppa?" And without waiting for a reply the new DI turned on his heel and ambled towards the exit.

Sam shook his head in bewilderment at the last few minutes, looking back at his desk he was faced with files still scattered on the floor, waiting for him to sort them again. He grabbed his coat and followed Peter. 


	2. Chapter 2

-1**One More Than Company Part Two**

DI Carlisle had wandered about three blocks past CID before stopping in front of a small greasy spoon that Sam must have passed a thousand times without a second thought. He turned around with a victorious grin and waited for Sam who had been several paces behind his energetic striding.

Pausing in front of the cafe, Sam studied the new comer. "You're familiar with Manchester then?"

"No but I've been." He smiled with mischief and threw open the door.

After they had settled next to a dingy window Sam looked with mild surprise at Peter's dish. Neither of them had gotten the offered cup of tea, instead the new DI had insisted that they treat themselves, a new concept to this detective stuck in the past.

Peter had a large bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup. Looking at his own plate, a treacle tart with custard and the skin left on, Sam realized he had very little appetite for sweets; he was hungry for answers.

"Let me start." Peter offered, but picking up his spoon he only dug into the sugary mess before him. Sam frowned at the false lead. However after a few oversized spoonfuls the detective licked his lips clean. "This story starts with a murder, as so many of ours do. A serial killer, and after him is Manchester's finest that is until one of them goes missing, down on-"

"Satchmore road." Sam finished, the trauma all too fresh in his mind. "But Maya, she's alright isn't she?" He thought he had stopped it all from happening. He'd put Edward Kramer behind bars for life, it was everything he could do to save hers and maybe, as selfish as it seemed, to save his as well. It had to mean something, all of this: the case, the murders, the heroic take down and his denial to show the jury that note.

Please let it mean something. He didn't become a copper to lie in a bed and dream about it, no matter how real.

"She's fine." Peter assured him, searching Sam's seriousness before continuing. "They found her the next day, arrested the suspect and he'll be gone for life now. What happened to the leading officer was a bit more tragic."

Sam's stomach sank as it all came back to him. The car that hit him like a wall, falling and falling until the gray and the order and the control faded into browns and pinks and Cortinas and 'we're just gonna beat him up a little bit'.

"He left a hole in the department. So they sent some one in temporarily, some one nobody would miss until he woke up."

Sam looked up sharply. "So you were my replacement?"

"But it all went wrong. Not there a week and everything goes…" Peter looked thoughtful as his lips wrapped around his sweet laden spoon.

"Tits up?" Sam offered, borrowing an ever-elegant phrase.

Peter's mouth spread into large grin as he slid the spoon out. "That. Something about a jealous wife and a baseball bat, nasty business. And now I'm here." He scooped up another spoonful of what could have been his brains all over the floor. "Not bad so far."

"Oh yes." Sam brooded bitterly. "It's been a blast. Never mind the total lack of regard for proper policing procedure." He watched Peter make a face at his ice cream. "Weren't you scared, afraid, confused?" Sam wondered, commenting on his earlier behavior and how it starkly contrasted against his own.

Whatever had bothered Peter about his treat melted quicker than the cream on his spoon. He grinned at Sam with an uncanny ability to disperse tension. "Oh I was plenty confused when I fell out of an ice cream truck in pink and argyle. Do you still think I smell like strawberry?" Peter wrinkled his nose and grabbed his blazer to sniff.

Even though Sam had known him for less than twenty minutes the thought of this indulgent man being hand delivered by the same food product he was enjoying seemed so utterly ridiculous yet characteristically perfect he couldn't help but laugh; a laugh that started as a chuckle and quickly escalated.

"You're cruel Sam." He reflected, the same laughter echoing in his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Then you won't mind if I finish that?" He pointed at Sam's tart, squished in the middle by his fork but otherwise untouched.

"No." Sam said absentmindedly, pushing the plate towards him.

Peter acquiesced greedily and dug in shoving a forkful into his waiting mouth with such insatiable desire, with such unabashed enjoyment, that Sam felt the same hot flush of embarrassment from back at the station.

The DI attempted to continue with that mouthful. "Show, I aweady know half your sto-wy."

Sam smirked, sweets made it seem a little less painful, even if some one else was eating them. "Woke up on the side of a highway that hadn't been built yet. I've lost track of the days now and I still can't make out if I'm mad, in a coma or back in time."

"Oh we're definitely mad." Peter quipped with a confidence that was hard to take serious because of a yellow streak of custard on his lower lip.

"Oh okay, you've been here half n' hour and you're certain of that? Are you sure you're taking this seriously Peter? Because you're not back at home, this isn't just another transfer. It's dangerous, in more ways than one." Sam gravely motioned to the corner of his own mouth.

"Isn't getting back what matters?" Peter shrugged his brows, grabbed his napkin and missed it entirely.

"But if you know the essence of the problem then the solution becomes clear. If I could just figure it out." Shaking his head Sam repeated the motion.

"And what's your problem Sam?" In an exaggerated manner so did Peter.

"Don't be daft." Suspecting foul play Sam reached over the table to grab at Peter's napkin but he quickly tucked it underneath the table leaving DI Tyler daggling above. Sam scoffed at his cheekiness and wiped away the cream with two fingers. Sitting back down he stared forlornly at his plate now in Peter's possession, his jacket, and the nearest pile of napkins on the main counter several booths away. Wishing to draw the least amount of attention to it, Sam quickly dispensed of the extra cream by sliding the sullied fingers in his mouth and licking them clean. He tasted the sweetness of the custard and momentarily regretted giving up his plate.

"Well that could have been embarrassing." Peter smiled, smugly satisfied.

Sam shook his head. "Anyways, let me catch you up on the current case."

~~~

The Railway Arms hummed with activity that night as it so often did. However tonight was a special occasion. The promise of a Scottish officer buying drinks drew every familiar face from CID and maybe even a few new ones. It was assumed that where a local officer might wane after the first few rounds, a Scot would far exceed and indeed DI Carlisle seemed more than willing to treat the officers and bear round after round of comments, jokes and abuse made about his person. None of it seemed to shock or offend him and he bore it with an ease of what Sam could only guess had been long practice. He did what he could to curb their jibes but dirty looks and annoyed sighs only went so far.

"Eh." Ray began, raising his fifth pint to the level his head. "Wot's the difference between a drunk Manc and a drunk Scot?"

Although no one had noticed, Peter had hardly been drinking. "Well that's an easy one. A drunk Manc drops his trousers and a drunk Scot flips up his kilt."

The pub roared with laughter.

Ray continued. "When's closing time at a Scot pub?"

Chris chimed in as if they had rehearsed it together several drunken nights before. "When the police break up the riot!"

Sam was sitting off to the side with a drink of his own appalled by it all until Gene broke away from the mob and joined him. "See you've takin' a liking to the new bloke."

Sam glanced at the sea of drinks eagerly bobbing at the hope of another joke. He turned to Gene curiously. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you've not pissed on me about this case all night. I know that's not my doing."

Sam smiled. "I can start if you'd like."

Another roar of laughter erupted forth, another punch line. Gene blurted out, "I don't like 'im."

Sam looked confused "What?" He'd seen it earlier, the initiation Gene had given: 'Buy us all drinks and we're pals' was the simple contractual obligation, and wasn't that what was happening? Hadn't Peter passed his stupid test?

"He's a snake Sam. People like that transfer from town to town leaving wrecks wherever they go. I don't trust 'im."

Sam scoffed. "He hasn't been here one day and look he's fitting every asinine stereotype you want him to. I never made it half as easy on you."

"S'the problem." He concluded, dismissing the usual bits of DI Tyler's conversation he never understood. "I know he's fakin' it."

But Sam discerned Gene was mistaking deception for the new DI's fight to survive and Peter deserved a better defense then he could give him. "Gene. You're drunk."

"M'serious." He straightened himself and what wasn't slurred in his voice echoed as a warning. "Don't get attached Sam." Seconds later Ray called their DCI back over to see PC Ferris set his farts on fire. Apparently the lad had a bad digestive track and the lucky trick of being able to toot the tune of Danny Boy.

At the same time Gene was called over, Peter managed to squeeze out of the crowd. The officers had used up all of their Scot jokes and no longer needed him. Setting his beer to the side he sat next to Sam wrinkling his nose and running another hand through his hair. "Nice lot you have, bit thick though."

Sam frowned lightly, addressing him with chaste disapproval. "Peter, you don't have to play their games."

The newcomer had a brief look of seriousness that swallowed him up. "S'no different from being at home Sam. Here everyone assumes I'm a swaggering drunk and even if I never touch a pint they'll still crack all the jokes they want. But in our modern world? Everybody has the same prejudices, they're just more clever about who they tell them to."

Caught off guard, Sam decided to drop it. "…uh, right. So. Where are you staying tonight?"

Peter shrugged. "Dunno, hadn't really thought of it."

"C'mon you can stay at my flat."

The key's to Sam's place jostled in the lock, the door swinging open moments later to let two detectives inside. "Here we are." Sam announced with no pride in his voice, hanging his jacket up.

Peter walked in slowly scanning the flat as a whole before eyeing the details. It didn't take long. He brushed the stray bits of his wild hair again, shutting the door behind. "Are you sure you live here Sam?"

He noted the main appliances that were provided for necessity, a bed, a telephone, a television but there was a distinct lack of any personal touches. There were no photos or posters, albums, videotapes, or even books, only a small stack of files placed neatly on the table opposite the television. There was nothing to suggest that Sam had acquainted himself with 1973 except for the odd newspaper clipping here and there and even less to suggest that Sam spent any down time enjoying himself. It was a bare empty flat with nothing to show for itself but the dirty color of the carpet and the ugly pattern on the walls.

Peter was silently disappointed that snooping about Sam's flat was going to be a boring affair. There were, however, two objects that did draw his attention. The first was an ashtray on the shelf above Sam's bed. He could have been wrong but Peter didn't see Sam as the smoking type. No in fact he was sure of it. It should have just been an innocuous ashtray but the placement, by the bed, suggested otherwise. Peter thought that was curious. The second item was the only small personal touch he could see. On another shelf near the door there was a picture of a young boy wearing a United scarf. Carlisle picked it up with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Ay what's this? Such a dapper young lad."

"You think?" Sam smiled to himself and was about to move on but then he stopped. Hiding the bizarre occurrences of this world had become second nature to him but he didn't have to, not anymore. Finally there was some one that would understand. "It's…me." He admitted. "I ran in to myself well um my mum actually. She was having some trouble with her landlord. I offered to help but…it was probably a bit of dodgy of me."

Carlisle seemed to be studying the picture with some hidden interest. "Must have been a trip eh? Meeting your mum like that." He placed the picture back on the mantle and turned his attention to grown up Sammy.

"What about you?"

"Nope, no parents in Manchester." And with that the detective threw himself on Sam's bed, bouncing once and then letting his shaggy head fall over the side.

"Do you need anything?" Sam, asked, moving towards the kitchen.

"Well lets see I went back in time, fell out of a truck and had just about every beer I paid for spilt on me. What do you think I need?"

"Shower's that way."

Carlisle looked up at the ceiling for several more minutes before finally rolling off the bed in a dismount. Passing Sam for the loo he paused to linger in the kitchen. He tilted his long neck to the side just watching Sam and rubbing his nose he asked with no seriousness. "Can I use all your hot water?"

Sam turned on the kitchen faucet to rinse out a few glasses. "I guess. Won't need it till tomorra."

Peter nodded at the answer and stood around till he thought of another question. "And uh…towel."

"It's in there."

"Soap?"

"It's in there."

Peter paused again. "I like that bubbly shampoo that makes my hair smell like lilac."

Sam shut off the water and leaned on the sink giving Peter a bizarre look.

"No? Alright then." Traipsing past the curious look, Peter shut the loo door behind him.

While Peter was in the shower Sam took out his spare bedding, nothing more than a pile of blankets and another pillow. He began to construct it on the floor in front of his usual mattress when DI Tyler heard the strangest thing.

At first it sounded like a muffled but familiar voice and out of curiosity he stopped his current chore. Wandering back towards the kitchen it grew louder, towards the bathroom it grew even louder. It was then that Sam realized it was DI Carlisle's voice, and not only was it DI Carlisle's voice it was his singing voice.

"I'm gonna do all the things for you a boy wants a man to do…I will sacrifice for you, I will even do wrong for you…Every minute every hour, I'm gonna shower you with love'n affection…Look out cause it' comin' in your direction!…I am, I'm gonna make you love me. Oh yes I will, yes I will…I'm gonna make you love me. Oh yes I will, yes I will."

Sam Tyler's diaphragm shook with contained laughter as he loitered in front of the door listening to Diana Ross sung several octaves lower. It was then that he decided Peter Carlisle was one the strangest men he'd ever met and going back to the pile of blankets he began to hum along.

"And with each beat of my heart, for every day we are apart, I´ll hunger for every wasted hour…And I? Every night and everyday, I'm gonna getcha…I'm gonna getcha, look out, ´cause I'm gonna getcha."

A few minutes later he heard the shower shut off and Peter wandered back into the bedroom wearing a pair of dingy pants and a matching shirt rubbing a towel against his dark and wild locks.

Sam couldn't do anything to stop his grin. "You didn't tell me you doubled as Aretha Franklin."

"Didn't I?" He purred, closing one eye and scrubbing furiously at his head before letting the wet towel drop about his shoulders. "Seemed appropriate."

Sam smiled nostalgically. "I should take you to this vinyl store I know. Bought my first record there: Gary Numan. They uh…might have something up the diva alley if you ask nicely." He teased.

"I'd like that."

Sam curled up in the makeshift bed, allowing Peter to take his own even though he was sure they were both as uncomfortable. "Get some sleep." 


	3. Chapter 3

-1**One More Than Company Part Three**

It was dark, it always was when he was here, in this long corridor with checkered tiles. Sam walked along it because there was a phone ringing in the distance and he had to answer it but no matter how far he walked he never got closer. The phone kept ringing and ringing and it made him anxious. It could be important, it could be his way home; he had to answer it.

One of the doors to his right opened up to reveal Maya. She looked at him with pity and concern in her deep dark brown eyes. "Can't you hear me?"

"Of course I can," he replied but she didn't see him even though they were facing each other.

"Don't you miss me?"

"We were…never really that close, Maya." he tried to explain feeling silly and small while the phone kept going ring ring ring. He remembered he had to answer it. "I have to go."

"Don't you miss me?" She repeated, but it wasn't Maya anymore it was that little girl that haunted him even while he was awake. "Poor Sam," she hummed. "He's too lonely to go home. Will any one miss him?"

He wanted to tell her to go away. Ring ring ring. "I have to get that." And the phone was suddenly there but as he reached for it the floor gave way. He wasn't quick enough to grab it. Sam felt himself falling through that darkness, cold and harsh and reaching out to tear him asunder as it pulled him down. Down, down, ring, down, ring, down-

"Hhhk!"

It was like coming up for air after some one had been holding you underwater, swimming up to breach that surface between the line of sleep and consciousness. Sam shot up from the floor gripping the spare blankets about his body and gasping for breath even though it never seemed to be enough. Sucking and gasping because he couldn't remember where he was and if he should still be scared and oh god this could be my last one. His heart was racing in his ears, steady and constant like that damned phone. He could feel the sweat rolling off his fevered skin, dousing him in moisture: had he just gone swimming? Sam kneaded those blankets between his fingers making sure it was real, making sure the phone wouldn't ring and the girl wouldn't come for him again. He was in his flat now. It was 1973. He was safe.

But he wasn't really was he? Because he was still dreaming in this strange world and the phone would still ring and the girl would still come for him. He was swimming out there, somewhere and if he didn't surface soon, if he couldn't actually catch his breath, then he really would drown.

Was this world the escape from the nightmare then, or was it something worse? If you dreamed something so terrible and you couldn't wake up would you slip into further darkness until you hid away from everything? Could his dreams be that shallow layer of unconsciousness where he just had to stretch his hands to breach the surface; so far but so close. Then 1973, CID, Gene Hunt, was that the deeper dream, the darker sleep? Was he sitting at the bottom of this ocean, so far, so buried, he couldn't even see the light anymore?

There was a soft and sad sound that came from him as his lungs choked; a muffled sob.

"Sam?" A soft click guided his head over towards the kitchen where Peter had closed the refrigerator door. Gazing down with concern he wore nothing but a shirt and drawers and hiis hair looked more wild than usual, if that was possible- matted down on his right side where his head had touched the pillow, the rest of it swooping out at a bizarre angle. Peter looked like he had just ran through the jungle but his eyes were tranquil, dark, deep and somber. Sam felt like he was drowning again.

"Nightmare." He grimaced, placing a wet forehead on drawn up knees. There was a soft patter against the carpet behind him as Peter walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I have them a lot," he explained, looking up at the other man searchingly. Did he have them as well, is that why he was already awake, could he feel his horror and his pain?

"What about?"

"Dying…I think."

"Jung would have a lot to say about that.."

"He can piss off." Sam muttered miserably. Throwing back the blankets he looked up at Peter curiously. "What were you doing?" In your dreams, he thought, were you fighting too?

DI Carlisle scratched his chin littered with morning stubble. "Woke up with the strangest urge for pancakes and apple sauce but you've barely got enough here to feed the rats."

Sam felt his heart sink. With the roll of the die here was someone sharing in his trauma and he still ended up being the crazy one. "Right."

Just then there was a soft knock on the door. They looked at each other, Peter laying a hand on Sam's shoulder before rising and undoing the latch. He guessed that familiar shadow in the doorway before the DI had a chance to be cheeky. "Ah, good morrow to you Mr. Hunt, have you come to shower us with your wisdom, or perhaps a bottle of whiskey? Sorry but it's a bit early for both."

Gene's face was a mixture of surprise and annoyance at finding Carlisle here but instead of snapping back he pushed Peter away with his silence, searching the space for Sam. When he settled on the tired, red-eyed man there was a veiled sympathy behind his urgent voice. "Get dressed, they found another body." DCI Hunt cast his last gaze of disapproval at Peter before heading down the corridor to wait for them in the Cortina.

~~~

The body was found abandoned on the bank of the river, another young male of the same age and build as the last victim. He hadn't been submerged in the water, just left there to be discovered by a couple who jogged that way every morning. The Cortina kicked up dust as they approached and Sam could spot a scattering of other police cars through the haze, even the familiar forms of Ray and Chris who were interviewing the young couple off to the side. It was what he didn't see that vexed him the most, uniform hadn't bothered to cordon off the scene and any fresh tracks by another vehicle or person had long been covered by their bumbling about.

"See this is wot I mean." Sam complained bitterly to Peter who hadn't gotten used to Gene's driving just yet and was clinging to the seats. "A complete disregard for proper procedure. They haven't bothered to mark the scene and I'll be seriously surprised if either Chris or Ray are taking notes on the witness statements."

"They found the body Tyler, that's enough of a statement."

Once the car rolled to a dramatic stop, Peter melted out of the back seat. Gene let his door fly open and glanced back at Sam with a dark look that always expected the worse and knew what to do about it. That overwhelming concern for doing the right thing, finding the murderer, and making things safe again cooled Sam's anger.

The three of them approached the shore where the black-sheeted outline of a body lay in contrast to the muddled greens, browns, and blues of the setting. Sam kneeled beside the victim while a uniform pulled back the covering at a nod from DCI Hunt. They could easily bruising around the genitals, marked with caked blood and the naked body. Sam turned to his attention to the boy's mouth, removing a small white cloth from his trouser pocket he plied gently at the swollen lips. Feeling something small and familiar inside he picked it out.

Sam examined the small round object with grave certainty. He looked up at Gene and Peter. "It's the same."

~~

Back at CID there was an absence of commotion, the lull between discoveries. Sam surprised himself by forgetting how abnormal this really was, but he continued his work because that's all he could do. It was just another day to find the perpetrator and there was just another officer to help. Just another officer from 2006.

He was sitting at his desk with a spread of paper work before him. DI Carlisle had his own desk (which he didn't find necessary to shout about on his first day) but Peter seemed much more fond of sitting on the opposite side of Sam's. As long as eating wasn't a distraction to their work, it didn't bother Sam.

The jam filled donut Peter was enjoying, however, would prove to be quiet the distraction. Its doughy exterior had been carved into causing it to bleed a red lumpy substance with the distinct smell of strawberry. The filling sought its freedom dribbling over Peter's lips it was caught with a wide swoop of his tongue. Sam was momentarily hypnotized (either by horror or fascination he wasn't sure) and felt a sudden craving for a pastry as well but Sam soldiered on with this case, curious to see how his new partner-in-subconscious worked.

"We have an I.D. on the victims now." He began. "Tom Shelby who was a Billy-no-mates really, we couldn't find too much: thirteen, trouble maker, orphan. No one seemed very sad that he was dead." Sam frowned to himself but continued. "Harold Christian was our second victim. The friends he does have just said he liked to drink a lot.

"We also took samples of all the tokens used by city casinos, found two matches. Seems that the Lucky Star and Grandwest Casino both use the same kind of chip but the first and second victims were located only a few miles from the Lucky Star."

"So why the tokens?" Peter mused, chewing over sweet filling while he turned the bagged chip in his hands. "Young rent boys with gambling debts?"

Sam shook his head. "S'not just about gambling it's about drugs. Both of the victims had excessive bruising on their arms, where they were injected."

DI Carlisle glanced up curiously.

"I suspect it was made to look like an accident. Just another junkie, let the police brush it under the rug."

"It's no accident there's casino tokens in their mouths."

"What do you think?" Sam asked, he was watching Peter carefully with a hand against his lips in quiet contemplation.

"They want us to think of them like objects: used, worthless."

"Thanks for that, Freud." he smirked. Picking up the token in evidence he checked the monetary value. "S'not that worthless if you bring it back."

"But it's not in a casino, it was in a our victim's. This is for revenge, Sam. A jealous lover perhaps?"

At that moment DCI Hunt emerged from the corridor followed by DS Carling. Sam could see through the double doors that Chris was escorting some posh woman towards the Lost and Found. Hunt headed towards them carrying a bacon buttie and a new grease stain. "Right, one of you lot might be excited by this. You know the owner of the Lucky Star?"

"Yeah. Gerald Avery, you brought him in?"

"Next best thing: his wife."

"Tits out to here." Ray chortled making an approximate gesture.

Gene nodded at Ray with approval. "Come to complain about some little sods stealing her mail. Point is we ask real nice like what her dirty bastard of a husband is up to." Gene looked with silent censure at Peter's donut before biting into his buttie.

"Put in to adult, sure." Sam swallowed and fiddled awkwardly with the phone cord draped across his desk, "Peter and I will talk to Mrs. Avery and -Well we can't all be there. I mean, we shouldn't be-"

"DS Carling." Gene barked, staring Sam down. "Threaten to bang up the bird that made this it tastes like the pig's actual arse." Gene shoved the buttie in to Ray's hands, wiping his mouth as if he were about to shout 'game on'. "Then there was three."

Sam looked at the ceiling for help and would have protested on principle if Peter hadn't spoken up. "Oh I don't know. I'm sure DCI Hunt is a charmer once you look past the grease stain."

"I may not be a flashy git with a hard on for plaid skirts but _some people _know a good thing when they see it."

DI Tyler stared at them.

They disliked each other, that was obvious enough but what this detective couldn't figure out was why. Gene still seemed convinced that Peter had some ulterior motive for being here, something that no matter his own constant nagging, consternation, and outspoken challenges to him, Gene had never accused Sam of. Then there was Peter who was from his world and should share in his grief. However when Sam thoroughly explained every relaxed procedure that had distressed him, Peter had not shared in his disdain. In fact it was completely possible that it didn't bother Peter at all, that he was very comfortable with 1973 because his own manner of policing was as irrational and disorganized as Gene Hunt's and what he was caught between was some sort of struggle for dominance.

Sam thought he felt a bit sick.

"It's my department and I'll be sitting in. If anything he shouldn't be there." Gene wagged a double finger point in Peter's direction.

DI Carlisle stopped mid-bite, slowly pulling his pastry away as if western stand-off music had suddenly started to play.

"You did say he was mine." Sam knew that was a ridiculous notion but the best way to convince Gene was to pretend you were playing by his rules.

"…Fine." Gene walked off with a grunt, scrubbing furiously at the stain.

"Did you mean that?" Peter asked. "That I was yours."

Sam gathered their evidence and case files. "Yeah." It was a strange question, but he wanted to assure the new DI that they were partners, friends, even. "I won't let Hunt bully us."

~~

Gene was already at the back of the room, a faint glow from the only window throwing the rest of his face into shadow. Sam was sitting at the interview table with the tape recorder, a row of pens, and a notepad. Mrs. Avery had been seated for a while with a straight back and hands folded across her lap.

Peter found them all, eventually-Sam, Gene, Mrs. Avery- after staring with misplaced interest at the marvel of antique treasures that those over packed shelves contained. He'd had enough time to finish masticating his pastry and walking over to the table inside the station's Lost and Found he plopped himself down in a relaxed manner. Along with himself he placed a small and dusty foam toy in the shape of a Dalek on the table.

Sam, Gene and the posh woman stared at Peter who didn't seem to notice them for several long minutes. When he finally did he looked surprised at the attention. "You can't get these anywhere now." Peter explained, undaunted, pulling out a lollipop which he then unwrapped and slid into his mouth. "Well…I suppose you can now." He emphasized the last word and bent one of the toy's arms at a 45 degree angle.

"You had to send in three detectives to hear my complaint?"

Sam started the tape recorder, announcing the details of the interview. "This is actually about your husband."

"This was a trick! I didn't come here to talk about him."  
"But you're already here," Gene growled in a low threat. "So why don't we stay and chat. Some bodies turned up dead round his casino. Seen any rent boys tied and gagged lately?"

"They had your casino tokens in their mouths," Sam explained. "This is a 100 pound chip" He pointed at the bagged evidence on the table from the second victim. "This is 500 pounds."

"That's a big tip for a dead prozzie." Gene suavely concluded.

"I don't know anything about dead boys or casino chips." Mrs Avery protested, refusing to look at the photos of the victims Sam had splayed on the table. "I don't even know if those are his, I never step foot in that place. Now please, can I go?"

Peter thumbed his nose in a relaxed manner. "Are you happily married?"

Sam's face echoed Mrs Avery's shock. "What?"

"How are things at home? Any fights lately. Does your husband spend much time with you?"

"There's no time for that, he's always at the casino."

"Ah." DI Carlisle scratched at his chin. "So. You feel neglected then?"

"I didn't -"

"-She didn't say that." Sam interjected, looking at Peter curtly.

"I think we're done." Gene pressed the stop button on Sam's recorder, reproachfully glowering at the both of them before escorting Mrs Avery out.

He came back moments later. There was an awkward silence and the three detectives stared at each other in the dimly lit room until Gene broke it. Clapping his hands together which made Sam jerk in surprise. "Right. I've got another witness lined up for us so uh. Hop to it."

Sam slid the interview tape into his leather pocket. "Wot?"

"Just came forward. We're making a house call. Come on."

"Well maybe Peter should come along."

Gene looked annoyed, like Sam just didn't get it. "Uh. No, Tyler. I don't think that's gonna work out."

Oddly enough, Peter agreed with Gene. "There's always more work to be done." Grabbing the foam Dalek which gave a croaky moan at his touch the DI left them.

Gene stood watching Peter leave like a blood hound making sure of a scent. After whatever animalistic urge was satisfied he turned on Sam. "The 'ell was that?"

"Wot? He's a DI too Gene not a paper weight."

"He'd be _more_ useful as a paper weight. Now. I've got the rest of team occupied; your place or mine?"

It slowly dawned on Sam. "So…there's no witness to interview?"

Gene slapped the top of the tape recorder closed, silently wondering how some one so good at gay boy science could be so lost without the science bit. "Not unless the little Genie counts. Do you want this or not?"

A mischievous grin crinkled across Sam's features and he met Hunt's gaze. "Flat's closer."


	4. Chapter 4

-1**One More Than Company Part Four**

The bed creaked lazily as Sam fell back onto his mess of sheets, staring up at the ceiling with a content smile and deliberating the ways they could use these few minutes together. He felt the bed sink from Gene's weight just above his head and he looked up at the man with a licentious grin. His superior officer was staring thoughtfully at the makeshift bed on the floor where some of Carlisle's spare effects were still littered about the room from that morning's rush.

Sam pushed himself onto one elbow. "Guv?"

Gene looked at Sam like the gap between them wasn't just a shabby bed in an ugly flat but a world apart and growing. "Come here," He rasped, surprised he had the breath for it.

Sam could feel his heart pounding loudly in his ears; ringringring. Oh god no. He willed it all away leaning in towards Gene with parted lips. He dared not think of the day where the noise is head would not let him enjoy this because when they kissed everything else melted away, hot and wet tongues pushing and probing at the darkest crevices, stroking at moist flesh.

It all melded into one just as their lips did now. Gene's sweat on his brow, the musk of his body, and the lingering taste of whiskey on his tongue all became part of Sam as they pressed closer like trying to fall into each other. Sam tried not to close his eyes when they were like this because he wanted to see all of it. He wanted to see and believe the reality of his dreaming in every intimate exchange between them.

Sam undid Gene's shirt, taking his time because they didn't have it. He slid his tongue away from the man's mouth, gliding a trail of saliva from the corner of his lips to the rough and stubble-covered edge of his chin, then even farther to the sinuous muscles of his neck. Sam elicited a long and drugged sign of approval, fumbling at his guv's trousers in a desperate attempt to taste even more of him, salty and musky in his mouth. Stripping Gene's legs clean Sam teased his tongue around the soft skin of his testes, drawing them in to his mouth and indulging himself on the taste.

He dragged his tongue around the base of Gene's cock and took the long, thick member inside his gaping mouth. He sucked tenderly on the tip swirling his thick wet tongue against Gene's aching red cock, between the slit, around the head. Using both hands to accommodate Gene's girth he moved up and down, back and forth along the shaft, sucking with depraved eagerness.

"Shit…shit." was both the enjoyment and protest as Gene tugged at his hair to stop. Sam looked up at him with satisfaction painted over the same lips that had been sucking him. "Off with these." Gene motioned to Sam's trousers and he all but ripped them off. With a gentle hand Gene guided Sam's hips up to his lips. Sam straddled his chest, forced to grab the headboard as Gene suddenly wrapped his lips around his freed cock.

Hunt wasn't as ravenous when he did this, not as eager. Instead he was steady and controlled using a powerful rhythm with his hand and mouth and a pressure that turned Sam to jelly on top of him. It didn't take much for Gene to slide one of his thick fingers inside of Sam, longing and willing to let go for him. He came to understand that Sam needed this release when they were together, a chance to lose himself and if it erased that haunted look he then Gene would be here for him. They would do it again and again until Sam could finally stop running.

Involuntarily bucking as those fingers pressed into him, Sam glided down his guv's throat. Gene lessened the pressure of his strokes and let Sam fuck his mouth.

Hhnnnh. Hnnh. Sam panted, using the headboard to support himself. Gene easily worked another finger inside him, twisting them as Sam pleased himself but he wanted this to last so Gene stopped him again.

Sam pulled back breathing heavily as his guv licked his lips, kissing the tip of Sam's cock while it rested against him and still massaging Sam's arse.

"C'mon Sammy" he coaxed, slowly pulling out more fingers than Sam realized had crept up there. "You're more than ready."

Both of their eyes were glossed over with desire and Sam knew the build was worth it. Pushing himself back across Gene's broad heaving shoulders he took the guv in his hands, lifting his hips and pressing the hard and waiting head against him. He slowly took Gene into himself, shuddering with excitement as his muscles gave way. Once Gene was inside, Sam clenched around him letting his head fall back and his eye lids flutter. He felt so full, so complete like he was with and a part of him; the line of Gene's cock filling Sam and arching against his prostrate, tingling along the shaft of his own cock, gorged with anxious desire.

"Go on." Gene urged, watching him lustily.

Every part of him aching with pleasure Sam touched himself. Stroking lightly before he rode up on Gene's cock and then down again, that fullness making his head spin. He worked himself up to a rhythm, bouncing on top of Gene while their heads were both tilted back, half lidded eyes rolled back with abandoned anticipation.

"Sam." Gene urged. "Sam." He was loving and possessive all at the same time, steadying Sam to make sure he was there, as if his DI would leave him if he wasn't always touching and pressing and looking.

"Gene," Sam called out.

They touched each other as Sam rode, soft and gentle like their fingers could kiss when their lips couldn't. Gene was about to call again but his face scrunched in a rush of ecstasy and he bucked his hips into Sam's arse, emptying himself into his DI who paused from his own ride. He felt that hot rush of liquid burst inside him, then slowly crawl it's way back down.

Yes. Yes. It was coming to him now as he stroked himself, riding that wave of pleasure as it rose and rose. Gene pushed him towards his mouth and took his head again causing Sam to completely give in. He cried out and burst inside Gene's mouth, prompted by that last added sensation. Gene licked and swallowed, kissing Sam's red head gently as Sam still stroked himself until he finally went soft.

Rolling off, Sam fell back on to his bed in an exhausted slump. They lay like that for some time, both warm with their own after glow. Gene turned his head and pressed his wet lips against the beaded sweat that covered Sam's forehead. Sam could see that his guv was sated, and that he wasn't sad when he looked at him anymore, wasn't afraid he was going to leave. Gene saw that Sam didn't feel like running.

But they know it never lasts long.

~~

It was late in to the evening when Sam and Gene entered CID together. As was custom they parted once back in the station, Gene heading for another part of his world, Sam to his own desk. Normally he would be given a few hours of respite while Gene pulled some one to the side in order to harass them into forgetting anything weird happened. Normally he would have some peace so he could mull over the current case and still enjoy the smell of Gene's musk all over him. Today however, some one was waiting for him.

"We were about to send the cavalry after you." DI Carlisle raised his thick brows over a pair of black rimmed glasses. His eyes looked impossibly big, searching, and Sam felt naked again. He pawed at the collar around his neck to remind himself that he had in fact gotten dressed.

"No need." Sam tried to be friendly, as if this wasn't an invasion of his privacy that Peter could help. "Gene's practically a loaded gun." It might not strike him till later that was what they call a Freudian slip.

Peter idly played with that stupid foam toy again. "Find anything useful?"

Sam didn't meet his gaze, pretending to look for files that didn't exist. The 'who-dunnit' file, that's what he told himself, that's what he was looking for. "Hmm?"

"…From the witness?"

"Oh." He couldn't remember the last time he put staples in his stapler. "Ah. No. No." Or paper clips, he probably needed more paper clips. He should get Chris to do that. Then again he wasn't doing anything important right now maybe he should get them. "False lead."

Peter just sat there with that steady knowing look while Sam fumbled. After a moment or two he looked disappointed, turning back to his own desk silently. Sam hesitated in his fake pursuit, staring at the back of the man's blazer which only leered back in an empty, wrinkled grin. Sitting up straight Sam tried to calculate what was going on here.

"Do you want the form?" DI Carlisle inquired distantly.

It was growing dark out now as the blanket of night approached and there was a soft hum of light drizzle pattering against the building. It was nearing time to go home. It was Thursday. It was not the day, the time, or the hour when some one finally knew. Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "The um…the form?"

"For the witness."

He couldn't understand what had happened to the goofy Detective Inspector he'd known just a few hours before but he was starting to get the feeling that now Carlisle was blaming him for something and Sam didn't believe he deserved the censure. DI Tyler was whiter than white, he assured himself of that. There was nothing to blame him for, except whatever CID already blamed him for: too insistent on procedure, too picky about details. Those weren't faults as far as he was concerned and Peter Carlisle of all people should agree with him.

"Yeah." Sam snapped back, sitting in a white chair called his high horse. "I would."

It looked like Peter reached into a precarious and disorganized pile of papers. When he turned and handed it to Sam the detective saw the form had already been dated and other basic information scrawled out in the DI's spidery writing.

Sam was surprised. "You started this for me?"

Carlisle had already turned around again. "Yeah."

"Oh." Sam stared at the blank page in his white chair remembering very clearly there was no witness. He dropped the pen and buried his head in both hands.

At that same moment Gene burst through the double doors near his desk, followed by Chris and Ray. Hunt came swaggering towards them announcing loudly, "So I pushed me fist into the blighter's face and said 'If you don't tell me wot I want I'm gonna string you up by your laces n' ring you like a bell'."

"Bastard deserved it." Ray agreed.

"So wot did he tell ya guv?" Chris asked curiously.

"Nothin'." Gene concluded. "Pissed himself and moaned like a girl, couldn't make heads nor tails of it. But don't you lot worry Gerald Avery's the real man we're after."

Sam pulled himself up giving them all a pointed look "Are we talking about your family reunion guv?"

Ray scoffed "No it were the witness you two just collared."

"We don't collar witnesses." Sam corrected.

"Guv still punched his lights out though." Chris summarized. "Sort of surprised you went along with it boss, you usually don't stomach that stuff well…no offense."

"Did I?" Sam shot a glare at Gene who ignored him completely. "Silly me."

"Am I right in hearing-" A new voice entered the tale. Scottish. Peter. "-that you assaulted a man who said he was going to give you what exactly: a positive id on a suspect? Our prime suspect no less?"

Gene smirked, a familiar look Sam knew all too well when their DCI thought he had the upper hand. "Do you have something to tell us Carlisle?"

Peter sank into his seat as Ray snorted. "Go on then tell us what size she were."

"What?"

"DI Carlisle," Gene clarified with distinct amusement, "whined and dined our posh casino bird."

"Peter?"

"I was following up my duties on this investigation. She only thought I was there to listen to her complain." Peter explained, scowling at Gene like he'd just slapped him. "She thinks her husband may have been cheating. And what if he was, with rent boys?"

"So wot?" Gene rebuffed. "Do we line 'em up and see if they can identify his todger? 'Anybody suck on these lately. Been raped and killed? Speak up now! That's shit, we'll go to the casino and talk to the bastard face to face. I'll know then if he did it."

Gene sniffed "So I hope you had your fun Carlisle. You know Phyllis could always use a good knobbin' if that's your sort."

"If I were going to have an affair," Peter spat, "I would know how to be discreet about it."

Sam's stomach suddenly tied in a knot and he watched in horror as Gene's poker face very tellingly turned sour.

"If I find you wasting police time again so help me Carlisle I'll have you transferred to a town so small the only place you can bury your prick is a hole in the ground." Gene stalked off red in the face, Chris and Ray carefully trailing behind. Sam was left there looking white as a ghost.

The new detective turned to him pointedly. "I'm telling you the truth Sam."

"Yeah. Fine."

DI Peter Carlisle leaned back in his chair. Sam thought he looked suspiciously like a psychologist then, peering through him with those deep dark eyes and patiently letting the silence stretch as if he were giving Sam the time he needed to adjust, and then confess. "Is anything else bothering you…Sam?"

"Look. Peter." Sam forced a tense smile, the kind that showed what a good little boy he was for showing so much restraint. "Whatever this is, just let it go. We shouldn't be clawing at each other's throats, we should be trying to solve this case and get home." Sam tapped a bundle of papers against his desk, evening out the edges, satisfied with that short speech of his.

Peter leaned back in to his seat, lazily pushing a pen against his upper lip. "And what priority is sleeping with DCI Hunt?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He was frozen to the spot, eyes widened and slack jawed waiting for the ring of a monitor or the voice of a doctor to cut through the deafening silence but there was nothing, just him and Peter and an ugly secret. Sam felt it was a betrayal of his confidence. He'd trusted the man to help, protected him the best he could against Hunt and the rest of CID, even warned the happy-go-lucky stranger against the dangers. So what had all of that gotten him? A very sharp and, Sam had to admit, unwelcome wake up call. There. Wake up call. That would imply that Peter was doing him a favor but that couldn't be it, there couldn't be any sort of benevolence in his thin lips and his big eyes. A kind motive shouldn't hurt this much.

Leaning on his desk till his heart caught back up with him, Sam drew in a very shaky breath. "I think. You should go."

Carlisle watched him silently for ages, sitting there with a dull look glazed over his face. Turning away he clicked his tongue against those white teeth again, swaying his head to the side he glanced back at Sam. "Can't."

"Why?"

"I'm stuck here in 1973 just like you." 


	5. Chapter 5

**One More Than Company Part Five**

Once Peter had left the station Sam was left alone with his thoughts and now he wasn't looking forward to coming back to his flat at all. He wasn't looking forward to the awkwardness or the silence and worse he wasn't looking forward to the question again: Why are you sleeping with him? Sam liked procedure, order, explanations, and evidence filed under the right category but there was a big question mark where his heart was labeled and under that heading was GENE.

The light drizzle had turned to a downpour berating Sam like his conscience as he stood outside the flat, umbrella in hand, while his sky fell and pooled about him. It was a cold night and a dark shiver crept up his spine starting from his wet, damp, feet and creeping up to his clustered, broiled mind.

Sam shut his eyes. He should just go back to the Railway Arms and get a drink, stay with Gene. His DCI couldn't understand, but he also wouldn't ask. He would accept Sam for his loneliness and his lunacy and Sam was sure that neither of them understood what had happened or why.

But neither could Peter Carlisle understand his suffering, the loneliness, something Sam Tyler had found a respite from in Gene Hunt.

What this really meant was there was a choice. The future, or the past. His flat or the Railway Arms? Sam entered his flat.

The detective was immediately embraced by a dark, enticing aroma that wafted about his head and kissed his nostrils. Momentarily all reflections were pushed aside as Sam followed the smell and found that the source was just beyond his door. With a slight hesitation he knocked and seconds later there was a soft click as the latch was undone, the door drawn back.

DI Carlisle stood in the doorway and after adjusting what Sam thought was a slight sparkle he hooked him with the same banal look of boredom from when he'd left. "It's late."

Yet again Sam found it was hard to take the new DI 's pointed indifference with any seriousness because Peter Carlisle was wearing a pink apron with "kiss the cook" embroidered on the front. Sam remembered Gene had gotten it for him as a joke and he'd never actually worn it.

"Wot did you do to me flat?"

Sam headed straight for the source of disturbance and went wide eyed and slack jawed once he saw the kitchen. It was an absolute mess, worse, it was like a hurricane had blown through and then came back to have a food fight. Pots and dishes consumed what little counter space there was leaving juices, sauces and other spare ingredients to cover the rest. Sam moaned internally on the extensive clean up he had to look forward to. However, after the initial shock wore off Sam started to see more than a mess, for example two fish fillets currently sizzling on the stove.

What he saw met with his surprise as well as his approval and all his previous anger seemed to fizzle away.

"You're all wet, Sam."

Sam snapped out of Delia Smith mode and looked up at Peter quizzically who had actually been standing as close as he could to reach his sizzling work. At that moment the musky wet smell of his damp hair and soaked shoes mingled with the dark and seasoned odor rising from the pan in front of him. Red in the face from the frying pan's heat, or so he blamed, Sam muttered. "Excuse me."

Sam changed quickly and was about to join Peter in the kitchen again when he saw the sheets from earlier that day, speckled with dried cum stains. He made a face and grabbed a blanket to cover the bed.

"Chips are done."

Sam eagerly moved away from the bed and into the kitchen, smiling without realizing it. "Let me." Sam pulled out the backing sheet and set it aside, his initial enthusiasm giving way to a slow suspicion. "What is this all about Peter?" There was something else he saw now in the cluttered mess, an opened bottle of Riesling off to the side. "Are you trying to wine and dine me too?"

"Would it work if I did?"

Sam scoffed and shook his head, the man couldn't be serious. His last conversation with Peter had been anything but smooth so he chose not to trust that this was just a nice dinner. Though, it wouldn't have been so terrible if it was.

Hiss. Sizzle-sizzle. That's all there was between them like a living metaphor before Peter spoke up. "Listen, Sam. All that…with the wife? It's nothing, I'd just hope'd she say something, give her husband away. Sure it's a bit unorthodox but you need a wild card sometimes."

"So you didn't…."

Peter shook his head with a twinkle of that old mischief. "Nah. Not my type."

"Oh."

Those dark searching eyes locked on to him in an otherwise innocuous exchange of foodstuffs. "I wanted to tell you."

Sam looked away.

They left the kitchen to sit at the table. Peter uncorked the bottle of wine and poured the white liquid into both of their glasses. Then he lit one of those long white candles that Sam kept around for power cuts.

Peter pushed a glass of wine towards Sam, sitting down. "You couldn't trust me is that it?"

Sam stared at the wine, touching the cool glass and watching a bead of sweat roll down its edge. Was the glass nervous too? "What?"

Rubbing a few fingers into his eye Peter picked up a fork, poking at the food. "Well if I was going about sleeping with the wives I'd assume you'd have one or two ethical issues am I right?"

Sam shook his head lightly trying to hide a smirk.

The silence wasn't surprising, Sam knew the dinner was just to occupy themselves and Peter ate in the emptiness, getting through a few bites and sips of wine before prying again. "So. Is this how it's going to be? I stay out of your business you stay out of mine? Because you were right, we should trust each other. Maybe all we have is each other."

"Can I trust you?"

Peter put his cutlery down. There was the saddest, most pleading look on his face like a puppy begging a stranger to take him in. "I wish I didn't have to say."

Sam looked at his glass again and downed it in one go, waiting for the sting to subside and inhaling deeply. "How long did you know?"

"I had my suspicions."

"You won't say anything right. I mean…it would just look bad."

DI Carlisle gave Sam a stony glare that startled him with its seriousness. It was possible that he had just offended him, tripped over some unspoken boundary, so he switched back to an earlier topic.

"Was it the witness incident?"

"Sam." His voice cut through DI Tyler's suspicions, finally fed up with them but trying to be gentle. " I know the way people look at each other when they're in love."

In love. For some reason it sounded surreal when he said it, still wearing that hideous pink apron. It was as if he wasn't talking about Gene and Sam just then but some one else, in some sunny universe where people sing songs instead of having sex.

"I trust him." Over the burning candle he could see the quick, unsure glance Peter gave him… "He's earned it."

"Sam. Do you think some one is capable of loving two people? Because I think I love you."

Oh. Oh no. It hit Sam like a second car-the looks, the teasing, the closeness, even this dinner with the candle and the wine looked so obviously romantic that his ego as a detective very nearly deflated completely. "No." Sam protested holding up his hands in defense. This was turning in to one of those telenovelas that he'd seen on his trip to Mexico. The ones where you didn't really know what the actors were saying but they were angry at each other and for some reason there was a small girl in a red dress and a clown doll. "Just. No."

"Sam." Peter pleaded with more hoping and wishing then Sam could bear. Those luminous eyes, wet and deep like an all consuming ocean. Sam was terrified they would consume him too.

"Peter." Sam entreated. "Please…please don't do this. You can't -you can't just drop in and say things like that." He shook his head. "You don't mean it."

DI Carlisle still had that miserable puppy look. "I have never. Meant. Anything more in my life."

This ruined the whole dinner for him and Sam couldn't keep eating even if he had wanted to. "This…this isn't happening." Out of habit he grabbed his dish and ran it over to the kitchen.

Standing up Peter followed him; greedy, persistent Peter. "What's so hard to believe?" He offered. "That some how you're both in the past and in the future, or that I love you?"

Sam shook his head, he didn't want to hear it. "Both. Neither. I don't know." Suddenly there was a strong but wiry grip on Sam's arm.  
Peter had just wanted to keep his attention, to let him realize how much he really meant it. Gene Hunt had gotten Sam's attention, his time and even his love, the brute. It should be his turn now because he wanted it so bad. Peter held on to Sam. "Why?"

"Because none of it makes sense!" Sam pulled away from him. "Because I didn't want any of this! CID, Gene, You. I just-" He leaned against the counter, dropping his head wearily. "I just want to go home."

Peter touched his back gently. "You will… Listen. You don't have to feel the same way, but you can't act like I don't mean it."

Sam's voice was muffled through the hands hiding his face. "But you don't even know me."

Peter sighed leaning an elbow on the edge of the sink along with Sam. "Well, you're DCI Sam Tyler, now DI Sam Tyler." He flashed a knowing grin. "As a modern man you have a soft spot for Marc Bolan. I know you're dedicated to the force almost to a fault and because of that you probably haven't taken a vacation in years. I know you're a United fan. You have a love of good food and wine. Your favourite pudding is actually a treacle tart with custard, the skin left on. You look brilliant in a flared collar…and when you're sad you look like the loneliest man on earth but when you smile I hate everyday I haven't been with you."

Sam's hands melted away from his face. "…Santana. You forgot to mention that I hate Santana."

The new detective's face lit up as Sam began to peek out of his shell. "I feel like I've been waiting for you my whole life." But before Sam could protest Peter stood up straight again and added. "Although I didn't see the whole 'you're in the 70s' bit coming I have to admit."

Sam laughed and he looked into those eyes.

"Best accident in my life though."

There was nothing but a painful candidness that was bared out to him and it baffled Sam beyond belief but he knew somewhere in that gut Gene told him to listen to that's just how this man was. When Peter Carlisle felt he wanted something he went for it with his whole heart, whether it be sweets or whether it be love. Sam believed him.

"Okay." Sam nodded. "Okay." It wasn't what Peter could have hoped for, that was something he just couldn't offer but he was willing to give his peace. He believed Peter and now he could start trusting him. 


	6. Chapter 6

**One More Than Company Part 6**

Sam had a wonderful dream that night. He dreamt of cream and deserts, chocolate syrup and strawberries. All of these decadent things he shared with Peter but what surprised himself the most was how rock hard he was when he woke up that morning

Sam jerked up, quickly pulling those dingy green sheets over himself in embarrassment and tensely peaking over the edge of the bed he saw there was no one there this morning. Sam's brows furrowed with confusion but when he heard the sound of water he knew Peter was in the shower. Sam sighed a huge breath of relief, laying back. He remembered the dream more clearly now-Peter, ice cream, something about a spoon-and chuckled at the absurdity. What would Jung think about that?

He knows what Gene would say: 'Only a tart like you would dream about ice cream and get the horn.' Sam's hand lazily rolled over himself again. Maybe he should treat himself more.

Sam listened for the shower and it was still going steadily. Good. Reaching down he undid his trousers and savored the sensation as they were slowly dragged over his hips, letting the pushing, hurting, but pleasurable strain go. He felt free and excited to fuck, or get fucked in the lethargic morning light. Sam took a hold of his swollen cock, gently stroking the tip like slowly unscrewing a bottle, drawing his palm down to caress the shaft. His fingertips tickled at the touch of his balls and applying pressure at the base Sam massaged them as well.

Sam stood up to wiggle out of the rest of his trousers, sliding his white vest off as well until he wore nothing but a pair of socks. Back on the bed he smiled at the feel of the sheets creeping up his arse and laid back, allowing the bed to swallow his naked body.

He imagined that Gene was there with him. Legs already splayed open Sam wrapped several gaunt fingers over his cock, still longing to be touched by whatever subconscious urge had perked it. Slowly moving up and down along himself Sam let that morning's sleepy haze come back to him. His head got a bit lighter and his limbs along with it, focusing on the shudders of pleasure running up along his shaft and bursting into low moans of yearning as his fingers stroked the tip. Familiar with every inch of himself he felt the gentle split in his head and the pressure of nerve endings just beneath, how his foreskin pulled back at his grip, gathering at the base before he pushed it back over the head.

Sam let his mind drift farther. He thought of the first time Gene and him had fucked, really fucked. Before that it had been a series of wank offs in front of each other until Gene finally let Sam touch him, suck him. From there it wasn't too long before the want had overtaken them both and his guv had thrown him on to the bed, legs splayed out much as they were now.

"God Gene." He had muttered, just as he did now. Hard and aching, flushed with passion he muttered. "Just fuck me. I can't come this time unless you fuck me." There was a growl as Gene had pounced on him, practically tearing off his trousers like they were a rip-away pair the boy bands in the future would wear.

Sam stuck a pair of fingers in his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue over the tips and coating them with saliva. Dropping that hand over him he nudged it between his own arse cheeks and entered himself with a gentle push, licking his lips as they slowly slid inside and relishing every inch his body gave way to the penetration.

It hadn't been that gentle with Gene, there wasn't any time in the rush and desperation of it to prepare himself. It was just as possible that his guv hadn't the faintest idea what he was really doing, only certainty where his cock wanted to go and so Sam excused the pain as Gene thrusted himself inside. It still stung, almost unbearably so and he cried out at it, clutching the sheets. Gene paused but he'd begged him to continue.

"Please. Please fuck me."

Sam pressed those two salivated fingers into himself, mimicking the initial pain. He tugged at his cock more fervently and tilted his hips as they eased past the tension. Inserted as far as they would go Sam wiggled the fingers in his arse. He guided them back and forth, slowly at first, enjoying the leisurely pleasure that tingled from his aching cock slick with a pooling liquid down to his arched and spread toes. Then he slammed the fingers deep inside him, even curling forward to give them more length.

Yes. That's what Gene did to him. Yes. He fucked him hard on that creaky bed, pounding so mercilessly into his arse he got lost in the waving and panting fabric of Gene's coat, his flailing tie and that thick hot cock abusing him. Oh god it had felt good, just like it did now thinking of it, just like it did now pounding his fingers inside himself and remembering his guv's hot wet come exploding inside of him. It had driven him over the edge but Gene didn't stop there, he just kept fucking him like he didn't know he'd nearly split Sam open with his excess, just kept bashing at his gaping arse until he hhnnnhh until he couldn't oh god take it anymore and just Yes. YES! Hnnnhhh-aaahhh…!

Sam felt his come jet out on to his naked belly as his arse clenched and spasmed about his touch. Once his muscles relaxed in their after orgasm haze, his fingers slid out of himself, still slick.

It was desperate, wanton sex and it was glorious in the ardent physicality of it all, but what else was it that Gene told Sam? 'This is just a couple of horny blokes getting it on, it doesn't mean anything'. He had brushed it off then, figured it was just what Gene needed to tell himself; the almighty sheriff falling for his DI? It wasn't something they made westerns out of and he didn't think Gene would believe him if he explained Brokeback Mountain. Maybe it was even what Sam had to believe at the time. He had believed it was okay to give in to that recalcitrant urge every now and again because like Gene said it didn't mean anything.

But it did mean something didn't it? He was surprised at the mix of emotions that conjured up, the twist in his gut. He found he wanted it to mean something more. It was just a professional relationship at first but a professional relationship for them already meant trust, it already meant respect. Maybe it was laughable to think it could ever be just sex because now they kissed, they touched, they lay together. It would be disappointing, no painful, if these usually loving signs had just become some sort of placating act between them. As if they were so desperately lonely that Gene would put up with this nagging, complaining, holier than thou self and Sam would put up with his drunk, stubborn, ignorant DCI just so that they could be with somebody.

That was a scary thought…a sad thought and it couldn't be true. No it had to be something more. What had started out as a mutual pact of physical intimacy had blossomed into something more like need. They needed each other, Sam was sure of that, and wasn't that close enough to love?

There was silence now and Sam knew that momentarily Peter would be swaggering out of the loo which was good because it seemed pretty clear he needed to clean up. Rising stiffly off the bed Sam took a hand towel and cleaned himself off, pulling his trousers back over his hips to disguise his pink and soft cock. He passed through the kitchen again to leave the towel in the bin with his other dirty and sometimes sex-stained laundry. Not far from the loo now Sam stood wondering idly when Peter would be done and if he had used all the hot water again.

Then Sam heard something odd was coming from the bathroom. It wasn't anything as playful as singing this time but something darker, more guttural: grunting and panting. Sam was briefly worried at what this could mean and found himself stepping forward curiously.

"Sam."

He froze thinking that the other man had realized the DI was looming outside the door and he was very close to uttering an apology.

"Uh…god. Sam."

It was then that DI Tyler made the connection and it should have been quicker because he had just been touching himself like this earlier. Only now what he heard was Peter Carlisle wanking off to his name. A hand of embarrassment flew to his mouth, a hand that still smelled like him actually, and he bit his tongue to prevent the sharp intake of surprise, retreating to the bedroom again to give them some space.

"Is it such a bother Sam?"

Sam jumped out of his skin for a several seconds and thought this was the end to his 70s ride right there and then. Excuse me, he would say, I'd like to get my money back for that coaster, it was rubbish. Whirling about he saw what he feared, the test card girl in her devilish red dress and mockingly friendly smile.

"To be here, where people love you?" She continued with a voice as sweet as sugar and as deadly as arsenic. "You even said Maya wasn't that close."

"How do you…how do you know about Maya?" The girl had been there in his dream but…that wasn't the same was it? She couldn't have known that.

"Poor Sam, he's too lonely to go home."

"No! Shutup."

"Isn't it better here where you're wanted?"

"Get out!" He cried. "Leave me alone!" There was silence and he looked up to find she had done just that.

He stared back at the screen for several minutes making sure not to blink in case she would come and haunt him again. With a ragged sigh he felt a hot wellspring of tears boil and rise over the curtains of his eyes staining his flushed and flustered face. Something out of a nursery rhyme Sam struggled for several minutes to pull the broken pieces of himself back together again, but the voices still wouldn't leave him alone.

"Sam?"

It was Peter this time, out of the loo and in his skivvies. His poignant searching eyes were some how larger than usual and they swallowed Sam up with their concern. It was something there, the fear that he had. Sam realized it was fear for him and that realization made something in him snap. His veneer of distrust crumpled at Peter's feet and he stared up at the man for help in desperate, desperate, sorrow and fear.

With more strength then Sam realized he could possess Peter pulled him up to his feet. Gripping his shoulders with a reassuring pressure the man's voice came as a confident solid foundation in Sam's rippling waves of broken dissonance.

"It's okay. I'm here now."

Sam melted and before he could think better of it threw his arms around Peter, burying his tears in the soft white cotton of the DI's shirt. Oddly enough, he did still smell like strawberries.

Surprised by the violence of the emotion coming from a man who was usually so reserved Peter was stunned for a few moments, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around Sam. DI Tyler heard a lost and lonely voice that sounded so much like his. "You don't always have to be alone."

Sam pulled away, staring up in wonder, searching that long gaunt face. "How do you fit into this puzzle, Peter?"

Peter thought about that and when he did answer he looked sorry. "I've never been very good at fitting." They stood like that, gazing at each other until Sam was breathing normally again. Then DI Carlisle spoke up. "Would you like to kiss me Sam?"

It would have been easy to say yes, as natural as exhaling his next breath, but Sam paled, remembering his rather evocative dream. He found his footing again and steeled himself against Peter's consuming warmth. It felt terrible, to say no to a man who was so hopeful, even beautiful in the warm morning glow. "I don't think that's such a good idea…"

DI Carlsile was crestfallen, so sure that Sam wanted this too, wanted to say yes but was still fighting something. This time Peter couldn't hide his bitter disappointment, couldn't act like it was all okay. It mattered to him that Sam could trust him now but it just wasn't enough, it wouldn't ever be enough until Sam Tyler was in his arms and not because he was the only one there, because he chose to be. Slowly letting go of the man he wanted to hold, Peter took his clothes to change elsewhere. He was sure this want would drive at least one of them mad. 


	7. Chapter 7

**One More Than Company Part Seven**

Gene, Sam, and Peter visited the Lucky Star casino that morning to question Gerald Avery, the short fat and balding owner. Gene had asked to see the register log and recognized a snout of his which encouraged Gene to have Sam and Peter distract Avery while they 'talked'. Sam hoped it was worth the 50 quid Carlisle and him had frittered away between themselves.

Back at the station the day was coming to close. Ray and Chris had gotten a head start to the Arms and even Annie left with a smile and a wish to see the three remaining detectives there. Gene saw them with off a 'shoo' and a promise to drink somebody under the table later that night. Sam and him were going to stay and look over the details of this case, or at least that was that the pretext. 'Foreplay', Gene called it, much to Sam's simultaneous chagrin and excitement.

Sam had charitably suggested Peter follow the rest of the team there. "Besides you're a Scot and I haven't seen you pissed yet." He added jokingly.

Peter smiled and left; Sam knew he was going straight to the flat.

Back in his office Gene was pouring yet another glass of malt whiskey into his thirsty tumbler.

"So. What did your snout say?"

"Something Gerald Avery would 'ave if you'd let me make a few extra quid." Gene grunted, setting aside the whiskey bottle.

His DCI was referring to some corrupted understanding between Gene and Avery. If Gene had done won a decent amount of hands then Avery may have been willing to spill the names of a few unsavory characters to the Sheriff. Sam of course had refused to let this go unnoticed. "Let's not turn this into a blame game."

"For once I agree with ya." Gene tossed back the drink, his whiskey face nothing but a curl of the lips from long practice. "Ethan Scott is a regular there. Word is he's into drugs, some real shit."

"Cocaine." Forensics had finally gotten back to them, this is what had killed the boys.

"Dealer. Major. I tell you wot Sam I'm so ready to bang metal bracelets on the scrote my fingers are tingling."

"That's probably the whiskey. And what happened to Gerald? I thought he was our man. Your words not mine."

"Got some new evidence." Is all Gene grunted. "Bangin' up the bastard tomorra. You gonna stop me?"

Sam stood his ground, he couldn't help a hesitant, anxious feeling creep up his spine. "You can't just arrest people cause it suits you guv. Scott may be a dealer but if he's not our murderer then-"

"You know Tyler sometimes I think you're the softest, mouthiest tart it has ever been my misfortune to have prattle on in my presence."

Sam entertained this thought. "And the rest of the time?"

Gene growled and pushed himself towards his DI who was sitting on the edge of his desk. "How good you look sucking my cock."

Sam was suddenly light headed: excited and terrified all at the same time. His DCI loomed over him, possessively pulling at his hair and sniffing at his neck like an animal checking to make sure its mark is still there.

"M'serious Gene, I want to wrap this case up just as fast as you-unh-but if we don't have the evidence then it'll never hold up in court. Shit-." Sam winced as Gene bit him playfully. "Can't we keep this professional?"

"You do professional just fine Tyler but you do depraved whore even better."

Sam shuddered with familiar excitement but his head was still screaming somewhere back there in the superego. Shutup. He told himself. Shutup and just accept this. He's done it a dozen times before, nothing's changed now. "Ah!" DI Tyler cried in protest as another one of Gene's nips registered more pain then pleasure.

Normally pain wouldn't have been an issue, they'd knocked over enough odds and ends to fill up the Lost and Found all over again in their desperate attempts to undress each other, even fucked wildly in horrible positions that left Sam aching for days. Tonight however, Sam's mind was elsewhere: the case, Avery, this drug dealer, Peter, the test card girl, his mum, home, Maya…Peter. All of the pain was just a reminder of his lack of arousal instead of an aid.

"Wot's got your knickers in a twist?"

Pushing himself up on an elbow DI Tyler saw the source of concern. Gene had exposed Sam but he was soft and pink against the pale skin of his thighs, impotent and hardly aroused at all.

"You, currently," was Sam's first bitter response but when DCI Hunt gave him a harsh, searching look he thought better of it. "Nothing." Sam added. "I don't know," was the more honest answer.

Gene let go of Sam, leaning against the desk with his fists as he loomed over Sam's impotence , studying him carefully. "Can't turn the brain off eh?" Sam imagined he could see a deep understanding there and turned his once downcast cast gaze up to the Sheriff of Manchester. "Well that's fine the Gene Genie knows what you need."

Slowly and purposefully Gene undid his belt, sliding it out of the loops of his trousers. He wound it around his hand a few times in a dangerous and playful manner. "You need to get roughed up," he explained, "till the only thing you're thinking is how is he gonna fuck me and how loud do I scream?"

Sam's cock twinged alive at that. Now nervousness and arousal coalesced into a dangerous cocktail boiling inside him.

Gene's eyes lit up knowingly. "I'll help you out, the answer to both is hard."

"Maybe after all you've put me through," Was the beginning of his retort, a half-hard cock sticking up between his legs. "I should bend you over this desk Hunt."

DCI Hunt narrowed his eyes in an odd sort of calm. "Do you want to fuck me Tyler?"

That sobered Sam. He wasn't up for the challenge buried in Hunt's growl, not when part of him kept reminding his id he wasn't supposed to be here at all. Tilting his head to the side, Sam stared absently at a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. "I don't even know what I'm still doing here."

A part of Gene still expected Sam to pounce but the heated tension was quickly fading to unwanted melancholy.

There was a hungry pair of lips eating those next words. Gene pulled himself away before he devoured the skinny, wistful man. "C'mere." He growled, grabbing Sam's wrists and looping the belt around them.

"Wot are you doing?"

"Get up." He commanded, pulling Sam up anyways. There was a metal set of shelves adjacent to his desk and Gene pushed his DI against them, finishing his belt trick but fastening them to the supports. Sam was hanging there, his wrists in the air and his trousers about his ankles.

"M'not so sure about this guv."  
"You're awfully mouthy tonight Tyler." Gene undid the brown and cream patterned tie around his neck. "Best fix that." Rolling it up in his hand, Gene pressed the sides of Sam's mouth open and stuffed it into the waiting orifice.

His DI whimpered around the tie and could taste Gene's musk against his tongue. He let the muscles of his jaw relax, soaking the article of clothing with saliva while staring at the ceiling and still begging whatever was haunting his mind to leave him alone. It didn't seem fair that his arousal would get him this far only to leave him again.

"There," Gene said, admiring Sam again. "Bound and gagged with me own clothing-and you said-wot was it-I lacked creative insight?"

"Mrrmf-mr." Sam corrected.

"Yeah that was it." Gene smirked. The guv draped Sam's leg over his own which provided easy access to Sam's arse. It was Gene's favourite play thing really, so open and willing to accommodate, a pleasant alternative to Sam's usual disposition. He prepared to gratify the man that needed relaxation so desperately in the best manner the Gene Genie knew how. Slicking his fingers Gene massaged Sam's arse while taking the man's cock in his other hand, licking and sucking at Sam's neck so he could whisper dirty nothings.

It seemed like some one else was clenching at Gene's probing fingers, stroked between his firm hand and grazed with his lips and tongue, because if it was happening to Sam it felt all wrong. Gene's kisses were annoyingly wet and sloppy, his fingers were unwelcome, and his stroking hand was no more close to getting Sam aroused then stubbing his toe would have been.

Shit, Sam thought, recognizing a growing panic.

Gene could feel something was wrong, Tyler wasn't any more hard after all this, in fact he'd gotten softer, even after he'd whispered "you cock-sucking Hyde boy" to him and he usually loved that! Breaking his lips away from their exploring path he saw Sam's eyes looked red and puffy. Gene's stomach turned into a knot.

"Sam?"

As if that was the all-clear signal Sam spat out the tie, shaking his head apologetically but he still sounded like he was choking on something. "I'm sorry I can't, I just can't."

His DI looked pale and somehow even thinner than usual. Gene was concerned and maybe even a little disappointed but he didn't hesitate to free Sam of his bindings. "You okay?"

"No." Sam rasped.

Gene didn't know what else to do. "Pub?"

Sam stared at Gene like he'd insulted his mum. "No."

There was a gap between them and it had just widened. That unspeakable gap that Gene couldn't quite understand, something as strange and as intangible as time and space that kept them apart. Time and space wasn't to blame though, either you wanted to be where you're at or you don't.

"I think I just need some sleep." Sam suggested.

"Yeah." Gene quietly agreed.

"Tomorrah. Maybe."

Gene grunted.

Sam felt guilty but there was nothing to do but leave and get his head straight again. He got dressed and went home.

Gene grabbed his tumbler and sat behind the desk until he could remember to forget the pain and distrust he'd just seen in Sam's eyes. He shrugged his brows at a dirty magazine he kept around just for appearance's sake. There was a blond on the front page with her mouth open and face-deep in pubes. Gagging Gals, it was called, see ladies choke on giant dicks. Gene idly flipped it open.

These girls knew how to put on a show for the camera, cherry-stained and parted lips, gagging as much as they could take and looking like they'd won a round of bingo while they were at it. But it was just that, for show, all priss and pearls with them but none of the nitty gritty finesse you needed to please a real man.

Gene Hunt thought of his DI, on his knees, leaning over to take him in that willing mouth and a once faded erection very diligently sprang back to life. Now Sam Tyler, there was a girl who knew how to suck cock. It was the eagerness with which he would bend over and suck which had surprised Gene. It wasn't just a chore to him, something you did to make sure the bloke could keep his pecker up for you while your head was buried in a pillow. Sam genuinely enjoyed it. That and he was bloody talented at it.

Gene let himself fall out of his own trousers thinking of those soft wet pink lips around his cock. There was something about the way he swirled his tongue around Gene's head, using both hands to pull at his shaft, something about it that sent tremors up his spine and made this strong man's knees weak. He would run his hands through Sam's short hair when he sucked, because oh when he sucked, the world blinked out of focus, briefly but it was just enough. He tore him apart when he sucked. Gene wasn't in control then, at the mercy of those devious lips when they swallowed him whole and made him come so hard with violent shudders every. bloody. time.

Gene let out a ragged sigh as the lights blinked back into focus. His hand and trousers were stained white now with his DI's memory but Sam wasn't here with him, hadn't actually been here to give Gene what he needed. DCI Hunt was alone in his office.


	8. Chapter 8

-1**One More Than Company Part 8**

Sanity found Sam again inside his flat, a poorly decorated dump of a place but a safe haven nonetheless.

Peter hadn't taken his advice on the pub of course, and he was there along with Sam, sitting on the edge of his sanity and reading with his black framed glasses. DI Carlisle looked him over. "We still have wine."

Surprised at the reminder Sam discovered it was in fact the perfect advice. Order and control didn't come in a bottle but sometimes relief did. Rescuing the wine from its cold prison he poured it into a mug and drank like a dying man in the desert.

"You look tired."

"I am." Sam admitted. "Tired to the bone. Been thinking' though. We should be working together, everything else is just…falling apart now, should have seen it sooner. Too bad I'm in a coma," he shrugged. "We might 'ave been best mates."

Peter didn't smile back at him, and he noticed he was still tense. "Getting late."

"I'm sorry." Sam gave a reassuring touch to Peter and was rewarded with a light smile.

"You try so hard Sam but you can't do right by everybody. Only right by yourself."

Sam furrowed his brows in deep concentration. "I don't think I know what I want anymore."

Peter leaned in with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "I have just the thing, but you have to close your eyes."

"What?"

"If you trust me then close your eyes."

Sam brushed away his lingering doubt, doing as Peter had asked. The bed creaked and he felt a soft kiss on his forehead before snapping his accusing eyes open again. "Oi!"

"Keep 'em closed, no cheating!"

Sam playfully scowled at the DI as he turned his back once more. "Cheeky bugger."

When Carlisle emerged from the kitchen Sam placed a hand over his 'cheating' eyes. The bed creaked again and Sam could feel Peter next to him and he could smell something else as well, sweet and pleasant. "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Sixty percent of the mind is used to filter images."

Sam peaked over his right hand. "…And?"

"That means you're going to enjoy this sixty percent more. Now open your mouth."

Sam took a sharp breath, puzzled at how oddly provocative that was. "Peter…"

"It's just fruit and cream. That doesn't scare the detective does it?"

"You're really pushing it you know," but covered his eyes anyways.

Sam parted his lips and felt the tip of the first object touch his waiting tongue, cool and thick. When it slid in farther he solved the mystery: strawberries and cream. The detective swirled his tongue and puckered his lips around its plumpness, and kissing it clean of the cream.

"How does it taste?"

"Mmmm." He agreed with this experiment and could almost feel Peter's smile.

"Good."

Sam suckled at another strawberry, biting into it until the juices fell into his mouth and dribbled between his lips and rolling across his face blindly. There was a soft tickle against Sam's stubbled chin as Peter cleaned the juice with a kiss.

Surprised at the touch, Sam's eyes snapped open.

"… One more?" Peter asked, unreasonably breathless.

Sam nodded silently so Peter continued, feeding him another strawberry but this time absolutely drenched in cream. Sam made a show of it.

"I think you're having fun." Peter purred. "One more?"

Sam thought this indulgence was starting to overwhelm him with a dangerous affection and disappointing more than himself, he answered no. But before the DI could turn away he instantly contradicted himself. "Peter…" Sam had inhaled another sweet but terribly intoxicating smell as he eyed the thin languorous man before him.

He mouthed something else, tried to explain himself further, but the sound wouldn't rise to meet his lips.

"Sam. If you want me to go," Peter began with a slight tremble, "please say it now, because I don't think I can help myself anymore."

They gazed at each other through half lidded eyes and Sam reached up to touch Peter, maybe it was to push him away he can't remember, but it was a trigger for the longing man who couldn't hold back and Peter dove in for a kiss. It was tender and sweet, like his lips were falling into that tub of cream beside them. It was delicious and Sam wanted more, as if the Scot were infusing him with that same kind of greediness.

Sam ran his fingers through Peter's pliable hair and he imagined what he could shape with it: Peter's searching insistent kisses, his own long arching neck, two figures about to make love. Letting his weight fall in a slow and aching transition, Sam laid prostrate on the tired bed and Peter moved with him, pressing hungry kisses into the taut crook of Sam's collarbone. They rocked and melded into each other, touching and exploring with fingers, legs, and hips.

Sam felt Peter kneading the flesh about his waist as his other hand gently traced the line of his throat in a way that made Sam's head spin and hips buck. Sam pushed Peter over, rolling on top of him. The transition was natural, the new DI surrendered easily to his curiosity and invited more.

Peter's eyes more even more terrible in their intensity, full of mischief and content, all drowning in a passionate lust that would turn to devotion and respect in the morning. They were drowning in it now, the want that ebbed and flowed between them. Peter had threaded it through Sam with devastating craftsmanship but it was impossible to say he had wanted no part because resisting was tiresome and now, in their instinctive touches and moans, they had the promise of pleasure rising in their bodies every minute.

A shiver of excitement ran through Sam as he traced a gentle, searching finger down the line of Peter's pale stomach. Peter nuzzled the bend of his nose into the bright patterns of Sam's shirt, urging Sam to do more, his soft laboured breathing a promise of returning every pleasure in turn. Sam knew Peter's body was a mirror of his own want.

The fabric around Carlisle's thighs bunched and wrinkled as Sam gradually exposed his throbbing member, only making the DI that much more aware of his own aching tension. It stood there before his wet lips displaying it's head in proud desperation. Sam teased it with a soft draft of breath up and down the length, eliciting a choked whimper from Peter beneath him.

Stripping the rest of those legs clean he spread them wide and bent over in commitment to his task. Taking Peter in his hands he squeezed the base and ran his fist up and down, breathing sharply as he felt the body beneath him stealthily reach up and massage at his own need. Sam fondled the urgent head of Peter's cock with his wet and lapping tongue, bathing it in his saliva before enveloping it in his mouth. He remembered the sweetness of the strawberries and the crook of the tip swathed in cream and Sam treated Peter like the most indulgent delicacy: sucking, stroking and tasting.

Peter was rocked with waves of pleasure and his head was dizzy from being touched like this but Sam's anxious need was just as apparent to Peter who teased the outline of the DI's bulge. Reaching over he coaxed Sam's hips to hover just above his face letting his swollen cock dangle before his yearning lips. He admired it for a moment- strong and demanding but still delicate and sensual, just like the man- before reaching up to swallow.

Ooooh. Sam's knees became weak as he felt Peter's wet, warm mouth encompass his entire length. He had felt the gentle release of his throbbing member but hadn't expected the powerful strokes of Peter's tongue and the almost artful way he gagged on him, pushing his lips all the way to his base in a loving kiss. Sam's nose was buried in Peter's Scottish heritage for a few moments while his cock was being ravished, trying to buck into the rhythm he was working at but the new DI stopped him, holding his hips in place.

Moaning at the agonizing pleasure of it all he was forced to accept Peter's skill while still pumping the man in his hand, running his long thin fingers over the aching head and shaft. Pressing harder he elicited another long, low moan from the man beneath him, the echo of his voice tickling along his entire length.

Sam's other hand was also wrapped under Peter's legs, spread wide to accept him so he slid a probing finger between those pale cheeks and lightly brushed at the rim of muscle. Peter had worked up to another arduous rhythm, finding himself gagging on the member he was teasing unintentionally. Applying more pressure Peter's arse easily gave way to him and another Uuuhhh echoed around Sam's cock.

Peter whimpered and moaned while he gagged on Sam whose fingers pressed into him with devious precision, ripping him apart with pleasure when he hit that perfect spot time and time again.

Sam on the other hand sobbed with bliss, burying his face in Peter's thick matt of hair and breathing his sweet scents as the man satisfied every inch of his length in long sonorous sucks.

It was Sam that came first, burning with so much sensation from hand to foot that he couldn't tell how far he was buried inside the DI beneath him. His release rolled over him like someone squeezing a tube and he spilled himself between Peter's hungry lips. His afterglow was only interrupted by the unsatisfied cock still pressing insistently inside his mouth. Smiling around it Sam felt his fingers now, sunk deep within Peter's warm arse and pushing with perverse persistence he felt the other DI cry out and convulse beneath and around him. Sam finally tasted the sweetness of Peter's happiness inside his mouth and it was even better than strawberries and cream.

Peter's lips brushed against Sam's spent hips in a loving purr. "You're brilliant."

"And your arse is a whore." Sam croaked through the curtain of pleasure wiggling the guilty fingers.

Peter's laugh was a moan and a smile rolled into one and he pulled himself from his spent rest to lay beside Sam. They kissed again, feeling each other's lips like it was the first time again.


	9. Chapter 9

-1**One More Than Company Part 9**

Gene Hunt was wracked with indigestion for most of that morning, or at least that's what he assumed it was. There was a deep agitated grumble in the pit of his stomach that he usually saved for first instincts, life and death situations. It had started after that ponce of a DI he calls Tyler left last night, a knot that he had then promptly numbed by the sweet relief of a bottle of scotch. It was that first agitation and his sweet mistress Hangover that were currently fighting under Gene's skin now, very successfully pissing him off in his usual morning routine. A mug of black coffee and a curly wurly used as a stirring stick sat by an open container of shaving cream as Gene stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to shave away the shadows of a sleepless night.

Sam knew how to push his buttons and sometimes when they started on each other, when he's pushing himself into that poncy, back-talking, girly, beautiful body Gene felt like he was proving himself right, giving it to Tyler when they fuck like a punishment for all of the annoyance he had to endure. But Sam is so bare and exposed beneath him it's not just a chance to fuck him but a responsibility to make sure he doesn't break in the process. Gene didn't need Sam's gift to him, naked and writhing under him, depraved and letting go, to feel that responsibility. He was the guv and he would protect the detectives on his team come high or hell water.

Dropping the razor in a cup of water Gene gazed approvingly at the ruggedness in the reflection.

CID was slowly starting to fill in. Ray and Chris were idling as usual and Annie brought them both cuppas. Ta, love, and his world was right again except for one last detail that came in late. DI Sam Tyler and DI Peter Carlisle came strolling in moments later bringing with them another knotted punch to Gene's gut.

He couldn't say how he knew. It wasn't because they swaggered in half past, it wasn't Peter's sex hair that he didn't bother to fix (the prick), or even the very familiar glow that Sam had when he'd just been shagged. It was more instinctual, like when an animal intrudes on clearly marked territory. Something had gone very wrong here and the stench of it caused his nostrils to flare, his head to reel. He had forgotten about Carlisle in the middle of the chase, he had sensed Ethan Scott's blood and wanted the kill for his own but had let his guard down in the process. The realization came crashing down on him now, thick black coffee and sweet chocolate wafting and stinging his enflamed senses.

The little twat had liked Sam from the beginning, even Gene noticed that, had especially noticed that. He'd practically drooled over Tyler when he stumbled into Gene's kingdom for the first time, staring at Sam wantonly with those big doughy eyes and following him around like a lost puppy. Gene Hunt had warned Sam about him, told him not to get attached because not only could he tell what Peter wanted he knew what sort of copper he was.

In, out, quick as you like, DI Carlisle never stayed around for very long. It was all there in the file. Oh yes he knew the type: flashy gits, real charmers. They had to be in order to blind everyone with their lack of loyalty. They took in the sights, got what they wanted and then BAM gone without a trace. That was a copper's version of tourism and it disgusted Gene down to that knotted pit in his stomach.

Sam, the naïve girl he could be, wasn't going to see it coming. Peter was like a snake, prying and prodding at Sam until he gave way. Gene Hunt knew DI Carlisle wasn't going to stick around long and it would be Gene, not Peter, who would have to pick up the broken pieces and carry on.

He was determined not to let that happen.

Thus CID became a battle ground that morning. All of the usual business-files, reports, inquiries- were just pretenses to Gene's guerrilla tactics. He sent Sam and Annie on some mindless tasks and even though Tyler seemed suspicious and simultaneously conflicted Gene didn't let it shake his resolve. A few more threats and they were out of his hair for the time being. Then it was just him and Carlisle.

The prick was at his desk, working diligently at whatever it is pricks do when they boff your girl and then play dumb. Gene reclined easily on the edge of Carlisle's desk. So it began.

"You always look like shit in the morning."

DI Carlisle paused from his work. The idiot stared at his bum like it was a new pile of work waiting for him before drawing his line of vision up to Gene's glower. Peter adjusted his glasses and looked away answering in dull monotone.

"Late night. Great night. You?"

Gene knew the cheeky bastard was just asking for it. "Nix that. You always look like shit." What he said was meaningless, it was the layers of menace beneath the words that spoke, threatened.

"I appreciate your confidence in me Mr. Hunt but, if you don't mind…"

"I do actually." Gene put his mug down directly on Peter's files, using the chocolate to splash a bit of it about. "It's come to my attention that you and I need to have a little chattsie." He reached out and squeezed Peter's shoulder none-too-gently. "A one on one with your old pal Gene eh?"

DI Carlisle made a silent face of pain but when Carlisle recovered he glared at Gene. "Your immature intimidation techniques may work on the others but not me."

"That's an interesting point you raise." Lunging forward DCI Hunt tilted Peter's chair and dumped him onto the floor. "Here or in the Lost and Found. Your choice Carlisle."

Peter gripped the edge of his desk, pulling himself back onto his feet. "Can't I talk to my brief first?"

"Wrong answer," the bigger man snarled, grabbing Peter by his sex hair and pulling towards the Lost and Found. Chaperoning him inside Gene shoved the detective into a chair, sitting across from him as if they were about to start an interview.

Gene calmly pulled out a fag and lit it while a wild dance occurred behind Carlisle's eyes, something that chilled and excited Gene. It was a dangerous excitement, much like his eagerness to give a right bastard a good and thorough punch up: the thirst for blood.

He offered Peter a cigarette from his pack but Peter only spat at him. Gene grabbed Peter's offending face and slammed it against the table, his voice thundering with all of the menace Gene bloody Hunt could offer.

"Now I don't know if you forgot the rules Carlisle, or if they just don't ever explain them to you Hyde prats but I'm gonna take some of my valuable time teaching you a thing or two. So. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." Gene applied more pressure to Peter's head, his lower body squirming helplessly in the chair as the detective blindly sought to push the larger man off. "And mind you I love the hard way."

Letting go and easing back he saw Carlisle shoot up straight, stiff and tense, wary to the game now.

"You're not a very good loser are you Mr. Hunt?"

Right then. The hard way it was. "You're seriously underestimating the situation you're in right now."

"Aye." Peter turned his head almost carelessly and leaning on the table, he looked thoughtful for a moment before staring back at Gene down that beak he called a nose. "I could say the same for you."

DCI Hunt took several minutes to take Peter in, assessing him as a threat. "And why is that?"

"Well," that ugly mouth of his gaped and he rolled his shoulders, slowly sitting back down like this was his plan all along. "You're obviously feeling threatened, and you should be. But all you can manage is a bluff, threatening me like this. Which just means," he laughed, he ruddy laughed. "You must be desperate."

That prick had I win written all over his face. "You think this is a bluff? No, this a warning." Gene leapt over the table again, grabbing Peter by the lapels and dragging him close. "Don't you touch him again. Don't you ever touch him again or I will cut off your todger and feed it to you on a bun do you understand me? And that was a promise." He let go with a shove.

Peter landed arse first in his seat again, it rocked and he steadied himself. "Well you see that's going to be a problem. The penis cutting off bit, yeah, ouch. But other than that. You see I love Sam and nothing you say or do will keep me away from him."

He loved Sam, what the hell did he mean by that? Love was spending your life with somebody. It was the affection you had for some one that grew over time. It was taking them for granted and not caring if they mouthed on about a case during one of your favourite westerns because hell you've seen it a million times and you only get one chance to be with them. It wasn't la-de-da posh bollocks, it wasn't any of that head-over-heels bollocks, and it most certainly wasn't whatever Peter Carlisle thought it was.

"Now you listen here." Gene continued breathlessly. "This isn't about me or whether you think I'm the shit of the earth because believe me you're not the first detective to think so. No. This is about Sam. He's a good man and a brilliant copper."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"And he doesn't deserve to be taken for a ride." He tapped the table again in emphasis, pausing for a drag. "See I know people like you."

Peter had been looking away in that empty, bored face he adopted when things were especially tough, but now he focused back on Gene again. "I find that very hard to believe."

"People like you come in, you have your fun, and then you leave. You don't know what it's like to be on a team. You don't understand what it is to really have to depend on somebody other than yourself. You can't, not when you play hopscotch with stations. And you see when you do that, when you do that you put everybody else in danger. You put my team in danger."

Some of that wildness dimmed and hardened in Peter. "I'm not going to leave Sam." He said it like Gene was going to be the one escorting him.

"Walk away Carlisle. Walk away while you have a chance to end your little game because I swear to God if you hurt that man I will break you in two."

"Your speeches are ringing empty Hunt. I'm not afraid of you and I'll tell ya one thing when I do leave I'm bringing Sam with me."

Gene had had enough of this, he tried to reason with him, as much as Gene Hunt can reason with anybody it must be said, but this little prick was having none of it .

In a fluid motion of muscle DCI Hunt pushed the table out of the way, opening up the floor for further "discussion". Peter jolted up at the show of aggression, stumbling back into his chair and into the cluttered shelves behind him. Hunt threw himself forward, a dog with a bone to pick but Peter managed to dodge blindly grabbing something from off the shelf.

A porcelain piggy bank came crashing down on Gene's head, shattering and spilling out it's contents like a piñata. White stars flashed before Hunt's eyes, steadying himself on the shelves before rounding on Carlisle again.

"Stand still why don't you?"

Peter was careful, guarded, not losing himself to the carnality of it all like Gene did when he fought but at the same time he wasn't looking for a way out, he was looking for a way to win. "Human punching bag isn't in my job description."

They circled each other for a moment before Hunt lunged again, able to catch Peter this time and throw him against the back wall. He swung a balled fist into Carlisle's gut and a punch to his face before Peter lurched forward with his own attack.

Gene shouted in surprise more than pain, clutching his hand. "You gutless little girl you bit me!"

Peter spat out the taste of blood and Gene in his mouth. "Don't act like there's rules, nothing about this is fair."

Hunt kicked the DI in the gut throwing himself on the groaning man in order to launch another series of punches until the door swung open and the cause of their dilemma approached.

"Jesus Christ Gene wot the hell are you doing?"

Gene paused mid-punch, still glaring down at Peter as Sam tried to push him off, tugging uselessly at his shirt and hands. He was still hungry for revenge and too close to it now to give it up that easily. "Go ahead and excuse yourself Sam we're not through here just yet."

Sam wasn't exactly compliant. "Get off him you lunatic bastard!"

Gene was figuring out the logistics of punching Peter while pushing Sam away when his DS joined in, stopping when he saw the fight. "Guv! There's a- shit."

Too annoyed to continue, Gene backed off as Sam literally threw himself over Peter. "Invite the entire station in for a gawk why don't ya?"

Ray wasn't sure if he should apologize or not. "There's been a call, got another body guv."

Gene wiped the evidence of their scuffle on his shirt, falling back into his role as sheriff of Manchester and not jealous lover. "….alright Carling, round up the station."

"Right guv." Ray stared at the three of them for a second before shaking his head in confusion and leaving.

Turning back, DCI Hunt saw Sam helping Peter up to his feet. "Don't think this excuses either of you."

Sam had a look on his face like Hunt had punched him too. "Go to hell Gene."

Gene tensed his muscles, stepping forward menacingly in the dimly lit space. "After you Sam." He left them, saving his anger and frustration for some other unlucky bastard causing chaos in his city. 


	10. Chapter 10

-1**One More Than Company Part 10**

Sam Tyler realized nothing put personal conflict in perspective like staring at a body that's been tossed in the skip like rubbish. Hurt feelings seemed petty at the moment but he knew this fissure ran deeper than personality. The bitterness that was created by the detective's earlier fight only infused itself into three very different ways of policing: Sam's own methodological procedure, Peter's spontaneous intuition, and Gene Hunt's guilty until proven guilty approach. He knew this case had gone on too long, that their differences had gotten the better of all of them and this poor broken boy was the result.

What they knew for sure was this: the murderer was now a classified serial killer and they had a serious reason for committing brutal, hateful attacks on these young boys. Everything was pointing to the Lucky Star, whether it was the aloof wife, the nervous casino owner, or the known drug dealer; past these facts no one agreed.

"We've been wasting our time," Gene announced to his two DI's as they grimly hovered over the newest evidence. "Ethan Scott's behind this mess. The bastard's guilty as sin."

"All the so-called evidence you have is just circumstantial." Sam countered, quiet but assertive.

"That's no problem for our DCI he'll just beat it out of him won't you?" Peter remarked with a sneer but his nose was red with dried blood and the cut on his lip had just started to clot.

Gene rounded on the Scottish DI, short of temper but more bark than bite in the tired outskirts of his city. "Tell me what you've done besides pissing me off with your stupid questions and hitting on wives. Go on Carlisle, tell me!"

"Oi!" Sam threw himself in between the two, holding his hands up defensively; two sandbags against the flood of his DCI's anger. "Back off, this isn't helping!"

Gene stepped away from Peter with a scowl of disgust, turning on Sam now. "I told you we should 'ave pulled him in. First thing. Now look at what's happened!"

Sam Tyler felt the tendons whither in his bones, shrinking and falling back into himself at the accusation. "Are you cracked?" He snarled, small but still fighting. "You pissed away half the morning, sending me on useless tasks so you could brutalize one of your detectives. Don't you dare blame this on me Hunt."

Gene's eyes sparked with the challenge, jabbing two fingers into Sam's shoulder. "Earlier? That were your fault Tyler."

Sam thought he would fall apart at the touch, looking in surprise at his shoulder to find it was still held together with flesh and bone, not strings and dreams.

"You betrayed me, you betrayed this team." Gene continued, breathing his rage onto Sam's face, but the detective would have no more of it and he stepped away from the hungry lion.

"You're throwing a fit because you didn't get your way." Sam concluded, scrunching all of the revulsion and dismay into the muscles of his face.

He turned away from Gene, only to find that Peter had taken off as well. Sam was left to find his own way through this mess, somehow alone in this storm that berated him on all sides.

~~

At the Lucky Star, Gerald Avery greeted DI Tyler with relief, explaining he had received a handwritten threat from what they both assumed was Ethan Scott. Sam was more than aware that Gerald had a previous business relationship with the man whom Gene was currently threatening, but getting him to even admit that base truth was proving excruciatingly difficult. Sam was embarrassed to admit he would have preferred a few extra pounds and the knack of looking intimidating if only it would have gotten Avery talking sooner. For now he was left to his much-tired wit.

"Look you don't 'ave any choice," he tried to explain. "The longer you keep me in the dark the sooner this man will follow through with his threat." The detective was trying to play the suspects natural bias of the police against him. "If you're a gambling man then pick a side."

"I'm not a gambling man," Avery protested. "I'm a business man!"

Sam frowned at the cards in his hands, low numbers and different suits; it didn't look promising. "There's been another murder, Mr Avery, with the same M.O. as the others."

"I wouldn't have done anything to harm them. Please, you have to believe me!"

He's heard that before, Sam thought resentfully. "Alright…alright okay. Jus' try and stay calm. Now, was there anybody else who…had a personal vendetta against you?"

Gerald Avery wore a poker face with dim eyes, pouted lips and a sweating forehead. "Have you talked to the other casinos?"

The detective looked away in frustration. "These attacks were brutal, violent. This was meant to be personal."

"It's probably my fault anyways," Avery mused, slinking back into his opulent leather office chair. "Wanting what I can't really have. Have you ever felt like that Mr. Tyler?"

"This… isn't really about me." Sam protested, nudging images of Gene's hurt and Peter's wounds off to one side before finally admitting: "Yeah, I guess."

"I'm not a pauper loving the prince though, quite the opposite. I find beauty on the streets, in the wildness. But you can't buy them no matter how hard you try."

"Sure."

"It's harder than you think. It's like they're suspicious of kindness."

DI Tyler looked up in sharp interest. "Who is?"

"You must think me a loon by now, the worst kind of man but so be it. You asked for truth and it's often an ugly thing. The worst part of it is I don't feel better for saying it, I'm ruined and there's nothing to stop it."

Sam pawed impatiently at the blind in his hand, it could be the ace in the hole. This could be it. "Who's suspicious of your kindness Mr. Avery?"

"I bought them chocolates and sometimes flowers. Some of them were bothered by the affection; they didn't want to think of me like that. Others just accepted without any gratitude and asked for more. I didn't really mind, after all its part of their charm."

"The boys?" Sam asked, leaning forward. "You were, um…courting them?"

"And that's the only reason I'm caught up in this nasty drug business," Avery continued to explain, adjusting the cheap rings around his fingers. "Gambling's legal I told them, not this, anything but this. But I thought it would convince them that I cared; at least convince them that they could trust me."

Sam crossed his arms, letting it sink in. He may have the right hand here but it had to be played just so. "So you supplied their habit. Is that how it happened? Did they overdose?"

The casino owner sat in silence, a poor man in tacky clothes.

"And the chips?" Sam pushed. "Wot, did you try and make it look like some one else did it?"

"I learned I couldn't love them as much as my wife. You can't throw all of that history away you know. They were still beautiful though, I'll never forget that."

It wasn't the winning hand but Sam knew this was a step in the right direction. He had a gut feeling but he would leave it up to forensics to prove it right. "Mr. Avery you're under arrest for the murder of three young boys. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which-"

"-Is that how it goes?"

They exited the Lucky Star quickly, heading towards Sam's car when DCI Gene Hunt pulled up in the Cortina, Ray and Chris beside him.

Gene slammed his door loudly, an unnecessary declaration that he would take over from here. "What are you doing Tyler, that's our suspect you have there."

"Finished punching up drug dealers?"

"Scott won't be joining us," Gene glanced sideways to Ray and Chris. "He's dead. And good riddance to 'im. Show 'im Christopher."

Chris held up yet another poker chip. "Just overdose though, none of that…other stuff."

Gene finished up for the DC. "He means Scott's not streaking in the underworld right now and that narrows it down to one person." Gene glared at Avery. "You were buying from him but he knew you had a few dirty secrets so you bumped him off. Admit it."

DCI Hunt would have shoved Sam to the side if DS Carling hadn't spoken up at that moment. "Guv it's Carlisle, says he has Mrs. Avery in custody."

"Christ." Gene spat, glaring at the man they already hand in cuffs. "Tell him when he's done playing house the real coppers already have their man."

DS Carling mimicked his hero's voice right down to the snarl, paused, and then replied again. "He bets a Party Seven that you're wrong."

In a flash Gene had grabbed both his DI and their suspect, shoving them into the Cortina and racing off at the speed of DCI Hunt's pride.

After bursting through the door of Avery's well-to-do home by force (despite Avery offering to open it) A-Division flooded through the rooms only to find DI Carlisle sitting at a table snacking on a box of chocolates.

Gene scrutinized the scene, commenting lewdly. "Figured I'd find you sticking something in your mouth."

Upon further examination of the house they found Mrs. Avery had been handcuffed to the bed using fuzzy novelty cuffs.

"Hmm," Gene mused. "Reminds me of better times."

Sam scowled through the blush, feeling Gene's gaze on the nape of his neck. "Let's settle this."

At first Gerald Avery admitted to the murders as well as tax evasion and stealing a pair of womens' panties. This would have satisfied DCI Hunt if, in disgust of her husband, Mrs. Avery herself had not also confessed.

It seemed they were at an impasse until a thorough sweep of the house revealed a series of used needles in the woman's purse which triggered a bitter dispute between the arrested pair. Gene stared at the couple like a pair of squawking parrots but Sam and Peter managed to gather that the first murder was intended to get back at Mrs. Avery's husband for sleeping with rent boys, but once Gerald had discovered this for himself he was somehow excited enough to continue relations with both of his new pets.

They arrested them both that day.

Gene Hunt assured his detectives that he was still right. Peter Carlisle smirked like he knew otherwise and Sam Tyler thought he would wait for forensics before becoming smug about anything.

"Right then, we're done?" Gene asked. "The sooner we get back to the Railway Arms the sooner I can set right all wrongs."

Sam scoffed at his guv as swaggered back to his Cortina, lingering beside Peter who had already taken to raiding their suspects fridge.

"You alright?"

DI Carlisle looked up from the stream of incandescent light beckoning his appetite. "Been better," he smiled, gingerly touching his face. "You?"

"Been better." He repeated.

"Your guv's not my biggest fan."

Sam shrugged lightly. "Yeah. I mean, no. He's a brute, I know."

"He doesn't understand you can love more than one person and yeah I think he's a stubborn bastard but he still means something to you."

Sam was silent.


	11. Chapter 11

**One More Than Company Part 11**

They had a tentative existence between the three of them: Gene, Sam and Peter. While the newfound team worked on cases, they maintained the unspoken pact of avoiding any personal issues; successfully burying the hurt they'd caused each other. This didn't sit well with Peter, who would have preferred another punch up with DCI Hunt instead of the strange ambiguous relationship they were forced to share now. On the surface it could have passed for friendship, but it was really just mutual tolerance for their shared interest. Peter found that rather than growing accustomed to Gene, he had in fact come to resent him. Since the fight he felt Gene had given Sam up too easily and Peter couldn't understand why. He thought less of a man who couldn't give up everything for that one special person because Peter would fight tooth and nail, would fight Gene anywhere and do anything, even if it meant going against his ethics code as a copper to be with the other detective. He told that to Sam because he told Sam everything. DI Tyler chided him giving in to the 70s and its anything-goes standards; but Peter knew even if it was 2006 he would have said the same thing to DCI Tyler.

Still, Sam was his now and Peter held him close. But then he saw - uselessly willing himself not to - a growing restlessness in Sam that the Scottish DI couldn't cure no matter how many soft words he whispered in the middle of the night. It wasn't until one of these late evenings of muttered sweet nothings, when Sam had mentioned Gene more times than Peter could politely tolerate, that he realized Sam missed what he'd once had.

DI Carlisle immediately felt betrayed by this unconscious admission, alienating himself from Sam to focus on that hate for Gene and wallowing in a kiddy pool of callous self-pity. It was only Sam's utter bafflement and concern for what seemed like a random iceberg in Peter's mood that he understood it may not be something Sam was even aware of himself, wasn't a sign of unhappiness or unrest with what they had. Sam just missed it. Peter was struck with an arrow of guilt at his overwhelming selfishness, had he really swept in and taken something precious from Sam? He had been so sure they couldn't have been serious about one another, so certain that his love would save Sam, that the empty cheapness of it all left a sour taste in his mouth. Peter was a romantic idealist and found, to his disappointment, that in this drama he may have unknowingly been a certain kind of villain.

Peter told Sam he knew what the man needed to be happy - although Peter was sure "being happy" was a foreign idea to Sam. It must be for Gene as well, to give up Sam so easily; what a ridiculous pair, those two, suffering in their silence as they fucked each other. However, they also knew how to sacrifice their desires for the greater good and were such good artisans of the trade that they reeked of misery while righting everyone else's wrongs. To DI Carlisle the practice was alien. He had a choice now. He could ignore what he saw brewing behind DI Tyler's thoughts and hold him tight, keep him forever, seeking different ways to distract him from that emptiness. The other option- even the thought of it stung- was…to let him go. Not completely, of course, that never crossed his mind, but like the 38 Special song went: "Just hold on loosely, but don't let go. If you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control." Peter felt he had every right to act out the latter, his possessive jealousy was like an animated devil demanding that Sam was his and to hell with Gene: Sam had, after all, made his choice. However, Peter knew that if he suffocated Sam he would indeed lose him, so even though he did not want to, in a way there was no other choice.

The next evening Peter asked Sam if he missed fucking Gene.

Sure he didn't have to be so blunt about it but it was clear he was still venomous about the idea and consequently Sam was too flustered to answer, avoiding him the rest of the night. That's how the idea sprang, he guessed, from saying it so succinctly in order for it to plant itself in Sam's head and nurture itself on his buried feelings. Sam never acknowledged its veracity but Peter was sure it was out of politeness now, not ignorance. He was tempted never to let the subject rest, pointing out everything to Sam that had originally led him to this conclusion. Yet that would have charged his originally good intentions with a cruel bitterness: salt on their open wounds. Peter saw the knowledge brought no happiness to Sam and even if he couldn't admit to it, the DI was clearly racked with guilt.

Fearing he had caused more damage than good, Peter did something else for Sam. He volunteered with Annie Cartwright for an all night stake out of some perp's house with the intention of giving Gene and Sam some space. That's when he realized -somewhere between his third cup of coffee and his second donut- this one small thing he was doing for Sam, something so hard and something he thought was big of him, was exactly what Gene had been doing since the beginning. He had given Sam up to him because he wanted the detective to be happy, thinking it was for the best.

"Englishman are such idiots." Peter commented in the over-heated Ford Granada in which WPC Cartwright and him were cramped. She looked surprised, but then gave him a knowing smile.

What a ridiculous pair.

It was lights out for CID, except for the familiar glow of Hunt's office. Gene was reclined easily in his chair, feet propped up on the desk and a whiskey filled tumbler in his hands. With the radio set to Carlisle's car he was buckled in for the night. It was usually something he would have Phyllis do, a plonk's job to babysit the detectives but lately his nights had been unkind to him and insomnia clung to the guv like foul smelling aftershave. In his office he felt more at ease, more useful even though the chances of any action on the streets tonight were slim to none. It was here in the artifice of his world that he could relax, that is until Sam Tyler decided to turn everything upside down; story of his life.

He showed up out of nowhere and acted like he belonged, poking his head through Gene's embryo of comfort and dragging on in that half familiar way. "You look ready for a kip."

The day was over and Gene would have taken a lonely sleepless night over Sam haranguing him. He sniffed bitterly and studied a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. "I'll manage."

It wasn't an invitation but Sam took it despite, the senseless git, sliding past Gene's double doors with two hands shoved in his trouser pockets and his eyes focused somewhere on that dirty floor. He was a schoolboy that anticipated a lecture, expecting Gene to start barking at him any minute, but when he didn't DI Tyler curled his shoulders and peeked his head up experimentally. "Keeping an ear on the radio?"

Gene swirled the whiskey in his tumbler and set it aside. "I've got at least one copper in there I'm responsible for."

Sam scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes, fixing them back on the floor afterwords.

"Come to keep an eye on me then?" Hunt inquired with a curl of his lips. "Don't think I can take care of your boyfriend?"

"Gene…don't."

"Wot?"

"Just don't." Realizing the only lecture was going to be Gene's bitterness, Sam sat on the settee, leaning on his thighs and twining his fingers together in the nervousness of things that haven't been said. They sat in silence; it used to be comfortable for them, just two mates spending an evening together but now it was as pleasant as listening to nails on a chalkboard and _Christ on a bike somebody better say something soon_.

"Well I hope the rest of the night doesn't go like this." Gene pulled out a fag and lit it, tossing the box against the tumbler on his desk, two vices that sustained him during the roughest times, during times like these. "You always were a stick in the mud."

Sam stuck out his lower lip peevishly. "Funny way to apologize though, sticking him in a car overnight."

Hunt pushed the smoke out of his nostrils like a raging bull. "Apologize for wot?"

Gene caught Sam's angry look before he muttered, "Unbelievable."

It pissed Gene off that Sam was wasting his time with this, if he wanted to talk to Carlisle he could have cramped up in the car with him and if he wanted to talk _about_Carlisle he could go shout his head off in the loo like he was prone to do, because the last stall that Gene visited after a particularly upsetting order of curry wasn't as full of shit as Sam was. "He volunteered for this so you can't piss on about it to me. Besides I've got nothing to apologize for and don't you say otherwise."

The hesitant face, the defensive flicker of his eyelashes, Gene realized Sam was really going through with it. "You brutalized another officer…"

"It was a warn-you know what Tyler you're the one who owes me the ruddy apology." If Sam had to drag his feet through the mud again then Gene wasn't going to sit by quietly. To his surprise it actually shut Sam up and the DI hung his head in shame. _Bloody hell you can't get a shot in without them getting all girly can you?_Gene reached for his tumbler and kept going, he probably shouldn't have, it wasn't necessary, selfish even, but it just slipped out between silences. "I mean, I knew you had todger problems but I didn't think you were gonna go run off to a different mechanic."

Sam looked up in surprise because there was less accusation than hurt there. "…I am Gene, sorry I mean." A deep breath, a stony face. "Not for what I did, but for not tellin' ya."

It was obvious he didn't like the answer so Gene fixed his steely eyes on Gary Cooper. If he had to talk it should be about their last case, about this case, hell make up a case and talk about it but not this. He was perfectly happy resenting Sam and that Scottish poof but now his detective was asking something more: closure and respect. Damn you Sam, that childish resentment was all he had left. "…So that's how it is then?"

DI Tyler answered quietly. "Yeah. That's how it is..."

Then why did it look like he'd swallowed glass? "Go on, get home Sam." That should have been it, the end, isn't that what he came here to say? That was fine, Gene could handle it, at least that's what the DCI told himself. As long as he didn't think about what he would miss then, sure, reverting to his old ways was possible. He was a survivor and though he had gotten briefly comfortable with being able to do more than survive, to be happy, he could go back if he had to. Of course he should have known it was never that simple with DI Tyler.

"And leave you here to be miserable by yourself? You'd like that too much."

Yes, he would.

Gene scowled. Couldn't he just leave it alone or did Sam like picking at his scabs? "You're a picky pain, there's nothing to like."

Sam wasn't deterred, like he didn't get it, or he was so familiar with Gene's grumpiness that he knew when Hunt pushed others away it was just a test to see who would stay. "And you're bad at lying."

A dangerously intimate smirk began to tug at the DCI's lips just before he put out the light by crushing the butt of his fag into the dirty, un-emptied tray on his desk.

Wanting to make everything right might not be possible. They'd settled their business, Sam had thought, their old business; but not their new business. Sam Tyler hadn't broached those turbulent feelings he kept under safe lock and key. Although not so safe that he couldn't stop himself from seeing Gene, couldn't stop himself from staying when he knew he wasn't wanted. Would it make Hunt smile again, would he tease and berate him for being a prodigal whore and then continue for twenty minute about how no one can resist the Gene Genie? Sam couldn't say, wasn't sure what to say; Gene already seemed resigned to his lonely cowboy fate.

"Wot's this?" There was a manilla folder stuck between DCI Hunt's feet and his desk. He could just make out the word _urgent_stamped in bright red at the top right hand corner and knowing he hadn't personally seen any files like this in the past week (and it wouldn't end up on Hunt's desk if he hadn't) his curiosity was naturally piqued.

The guv's pupil's dilated, recognizing what DI Tyler didn't and kicking at his invasive hands to keep it that way. "S'nothing." He dismissed Sam with his irritation. "Didn't I tell you to piss off?"

"Yeah but you always say that, more or less." Sam was staring at the file, Gene's tension a red flag. "You're serious?" He was leaning on his guv's desk, head tilted in curious and playful wonder at what dirty little secret his superior officer was keeping. "Wot's in there that I can't see?"

His superior officer however, was anything but playful in return, shuffling his feet back onto the dirty floor and laying a heavy hand on the file. "Me doing your mum now let it alone."

Sam scoffed, "You're a pig." He reached for it again but Gene pulled the folder back into the safety of his personal space which DI Tyler had no problem invading, lunging for it like it was the lunch money Gene stole. Hunt jolted out of his chair, holding the file just out of reach while his DI made a stupid fool out of himself trying to jump and grab it.

"Damnit Tyler I said no, now stop jumping about like a ruddy jack rabbit. That's an order!"

The struggle stopped and Sam stepped back, a few beads of sweat clinging to his forehead while his chest pushed the fabric of his shirt in and out in a light pant. The DI looked reprimanded but not deterred, that dark and smokey glance through squinted eyes shook Gene's resolve and-god he was bloody gorgeous in that dim light. The way he stared Gene down like Sam wasn't just a scrawny little girl but he was going to take Gene and have his way- it was almost like he came down all this way to-"Oof!"

"Ha!"

Gene clutched his stomach as he felt the file slip out his hands, looking up to see Sam waving it victoriously. That little shit, he knew exactly what he was doing! Why he oughta-

"Gene…what's this?"

DCI Hunt felt his desire to make Sam Tyler pay for the punch to his gut drop like a brick. Inside the manilla folder stamped important was a transfer back to Hyde and even though he'd threatened his detective just days before, it wasn't for him. It was for DI Peter Carlisle. "Before you start accusing me I 'ad nothing to do with it."

Sam was still staring at the file. Cold, sad and distant he tried to be smart but it had none of the bite. "You're a real class act, Gene." It was pathetic really, like when an old dog starts to howl; you feel bad, but then you just want to yell at it to shut up. In Sam's case he only wanted to yell because he couldn't do anything else, not anymore.

"Christ. I was going to tell you Tyler but I swear I just read it before you pranced in like that."

Sam Tyler sat back on the settee and deflated. He stared at the file as if it were causing him pain, folded it up after a time and set it aside. "Did he…request it?"

Gene had taken Sam's break down time to count the cigarettes he had left: three. That meant he could have one now while Sam felt sorry for himself and then have another to console his very good self when his detective left, which meant he'd still have one more to go with the mass of amount of drinking he had planned after all this. "Doubt it."

It couldn't have been clean and it couldn't have been easy, Sam looked up at him with all of that hurt and confusion like he wanted, expected, Gene to do something about it. Jesus Tyler, they were passed that you'd just said it yourself! Of course it wasn't fair, it had blind-sided him as well but Sam had made his bed and he bloody well ought to be man enough to sleep in it.

Still, Gene Hunt offered the best explanation for those prying eyes that he could. "One, I would have known about it an' two, he wouldn't go unless you were comin'. Sort of a big thing for him." He shrugged and lit another fag, resting against the edge of his desk. "Probably doesn't even know about it."

Sam seemed to consider this. "Then why can't I leave?"

That was too much for Gene and he stood to turn his back to Sam but the sad little bugger was still there when he finally came round, patient, waiting, almost helpless. Shit. "I can get rid of it."

That was like a defibrillator between them, shocking Sam back into the here and now with furrowed brows and careful distrust to replace the hurt. "What are you saying?"

Gene's own pulse raced as his frustration overwhelmed him, tightening his jaw and grinding his teeth. It was a hell of a lot for Sam because unlike the straightlaced DI, Gene didn't waste time with things that never needed to be said or were better left unsaid. When he bought him a beer it meant "I trust you, Sam", when he bothered to listen to his ramblings and they worked together it meant "I know you Sam", and when he offers to be bent, to dirty his hands for his clean and proper detective on the off chance that seeing him happy will lessen his own miserable jealousy just a little it meant "I still love you Sam."

"I'm saying that your boy in blue has a lot of problems. He's got zero accountability, running about doing as he pleases. But he's never been more on the straight and narrow since he met you. We've got that in common…So. If you want me to lose it, he can stay."

It was strange, Gene expected the git to be grateful and maybe he was for a brief second but then there was a cloud that passed over Sam's face and it looked as if he was more hurt than helped by the offer. "But it's not really up to me is it? Or you?"

Gene had to bitterly admit his revered title of DCI lacked the power for that. "Yeah well…thought it would make you feel better at any rate."

"So that's it? He's gone and I'm stuck here."

Gene nodded solemnly, barely through his fag but already mentally done with it and looking forward to the next nicotine kick, looking forward to anything more than this. "You'll manage."

After a moment Sam smiled sadly. "It's too bad eh?"

"Wot is?" Gene looked defensively over the wall of smoke he was creating.

"That he's leaving. You two might have even got along."

The DCI scoffed, rolling his eyes "Bout as well as I'd get along with the clap." It looked like Sam was only half listening to him, staring at the floor again and lost in thought so he ventured to mutter: "Turned out to be less of a prick at the end."

But Sam still caught it, jerking his head up. "So you were wrong about him?"

"I didn't say that. Less of a prick maybe but still a prick all the same."

"Can't imagine wot you thought about me then. At first."

"Same thing I think now." Gene tried to sound serious and gruff, anything other than the sentimental dribble that was coming out of him now while his DI stared insistently. "Well I'm not gonna tell ya."

"Dark and mysterious doesn't suit you Gene."

"Good. I'll stick with gorgeous bastard then shall I?"

Sam cracked a smile. "Please."

Gene let his fag rest momentarily between two fingers, picking the tumbler off his desk and churning its contents with the flick of his wrist. "Which do you prefer?"

He wasn't looking at Sam, couldn't really, but he heard the glint of mischief in his voice doing his best Gene Hunt impression. "I'm not gonna tell ya."

It was terrible, for the record, and Gene drowned his disdain with a drink, mouthing into the glass "bloody tease."

"Well…guess I'll head back. I leave them in your hands, Hunt." Sam stood and lingered.

Gene dropped the tumbler on his desk, right next to the radio. "You sure about that?"

"You want me here all night?"

Gene scowled. "Get the hell out."

They both smirked and stood there, swaying in their separate fears and regrets.

Then Sam suddenly blurted out, "…You owe me you know. For being a bastard to him."

Gene shook his head but he didn't know at what. He just wanted Sam to do like he said he would and leave because then the whiskey would taste better and the fag would be stronger and he could start to forget. "No can do Sammy boy."

Sam looked annoyed, turned to leave, and then turned back. Gene watched as he picked up the file and set it on his desk, leaning over him to pick up the tumbler. "Might find out which I prefer." Knocking back the rest of his booze, Sam Tyler grimaced and finally left.

Gene was left wondering, while knowing full well, what his detective meant. He could come swaggering in saying it's the end and it must 'ave felt great for his bastard of a conscience but then he goes and pulls a 360, rolling up those trousers and showing a little leg. He cursed Tyler. It would have been easier if he were a girl then Gene could have called him a whore and blamed it on gender. Now the guv would just call him a whore.


	12. Chapter 12

Gene Hunt tossed DI Carlisle's transfer papers.

After all, thanks to the proficiency of the 1973 sorting system things got lost all the time and this DCI doubted any of his higher ups would even notice CID was 0.5% more Scottish. Nor would Peter be missed back at Hyde. They would only remember his name long enough to ship him out to some other department in Brighton, Blackpool, or God forbid back in Manchester under the manicured fist of DCI Litton. Even Gene Hunt had enough mercy to prevent that.

More importantly, Peter had a bigger responsibility now.

Gene always fancied he was the one to take care of Sam but it seemed he was wrong. Sam was in love. It was as plain as the nose on his face; Sam was in love with that shrimpy, pathetic, doey-eyed, gorgeous man. Peter was pretty and charming, open like a book: everything Gene Hunt was not.

In hindsight he admitted trying to beat ten types of shit out of Carlisle may not have been the best way to show Sam he cared. Not that he felt bad about giving Peter a split lip or a black eye, in fact it felt great, but he did care when Sam gave him such a poisoned look that his long-accustomed throat remembered how much whiskey burned.

Somehow Peter had come from the same planet as his DI and had made up the ground Gene had worked months on in a matter of days. It was no lie that he resented him for that.

What did Peter know that he didn't?

He mulled over the question for a long while until there was a knock on his door.

"Guv."

It had been five days since Peter had given Gene and Sam some space but to his disappointment no one had caught the bloody hint. Peter went through their bins and found no secret letters pining of love and remorse, no used condoms, not even an empty bottle of wine. The Scottish DI realized that Sam and Gene were in a stalemate with each other. Gene wanted to blame Peter. Sam wanted to blame Gene and it was Sam's own sanctimonious self that demanded Hunt bend first before he extend the olive branch.

Therefore they spent day after day in silence.

But no more, Peter vowed, if his presence had split them in two then he would be the one to bring them together. He couldn't sit back and let things mend themselves as he had originally thought. Now if he wanted Sam to be happy, truly happy, he would have to take an active role. It would take all of his wit but he was prepared to paste humpty-dumpty back together again.

First he wanted to try the direct approach. Gene, in his own messed up way, had tried the direct approach with him when he'd first found out. The major problem with Gene, however, was that his methods were a little _too_ direct. Peter just wanted to talk, but he also knew Gene Hunt didn't like to listen _especially_ to him, so if he had to play dirty to get the man's attention Peter had no remorse doing so.

He entered Gene's holy abode in the late afternoon while Sam was chasing down files in the Collator's Den.

Clearing his throat Peter walked into his DCI's office. "Guv."

Not once in all of his time here had DI Carlisle ever uttered Gene's self-appointed honorific. It was one of many things that pissed this sheriff of Manchester off to no end but it was also the one advantage Peter had now. He was serious. Gene knew it, and sitting at his desk with his feet propped up and the morning's newspaper in hand he put on a poor show of hiding how surprised he was.

"Inspector."

Peter moseyed in, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "Got a minute?"

"No."

"Good."

Gene couldn't help the suspicion screaming in his knit brows but setting the newspaper aside he _allowed_ Peter an audience.

"I've acted like a right div since I got here. Not followed the rules of Gene Hunt. I plan to be a good little boy now, and you're free to publicly humiliate me or whatever forms of initiation you lot still do."

Gene stared at him as if he'd suddenly mastered a posh southern accent. "…Let me get this straight. You're _apologizing _to me?"

"Sure."

"Wot about for being a big-nosed, hard-assed little gob shite?"

"That too."

"And for being a bum-bandit," Gene scowled, "a pretty little Scottish fairy that goes about pissing in the wind?"

"That one must have slipped my mind."

Gene shook his head. "…You don't mean any of it do you?"

"Not really."

Gene pushed himself out of his office chair in a flight of anger. "If you've come here to rub my nose in a bunch of shit so help me Carlisle I'll-"

"You're a good man, Hunt. You deserve better than you give yourself."

This took Gene by surprise.

"I underestimated you when I first came here," Peter continued, "that's true, and for that I am sorry. But if you don't listen to me now, no matter how much you hate me, you'll regret it."

Peter had riled him up for a fight but instead of a punch the DI had blindsided him with an honesty he was so unprepared for he could only stand and listen. That's what Peter wanted.

"I'm not here to make us friends; I'm here because of Sam. I love him, but he misses you. No, listen, _please_. As much as it breaks my heart to admit it he needs you Gene."

"This is a trick right? Or another one of your mind games. You're both in on it though right? Well you just lost your bet Carlisle cause I'll not fall for it."

Peter shook his head in frustration. His DCI was so set on threatening him he wouldn't _listen_. "Pull your head out of your arse! We've all gotten hurt but being stubborn isn't going to help!"

"Well then you shoulda thought of that before you poked your todger where it didn't belong shouldn't ya?" Gene sat back down at his desk, satisfied with himself.

"I thought you'd be happy." Peter wondered out loud. "I practically begged you just now."

Hunt reached for a cigarette like a gavel. "He made up his mind. So have I. You've had your say now, we're done."

Peter knew Gene wasn't going to listen anymore and if he kept pushing the man would only get angrier resulting in another black eye.

It was time for plan B.

Sam opened his door to Gene Hunt at half past eight. He'd expected him ever since receiving a cryptic note that morning which simply read 'your flat, after 8'. The rest of the day had been a waste; Sam wasn't able to focus on anything but deciphering what those four words could mean and now that his guv was finally here, the mystery only loomed larger.

Gene greeted him briskly while not-so-subtly searching for signs of Peter.

"He's out," Sam explained.

"Right."

"So?"

"'_So?' _Are you gonna let me in or slam the door in me face?"

"Now there's an idea." Sam threatened, his suspicion mounting.

There was no smart retort. Gene swept past him to stand in the middle of the room. He didn't say anything, too preoccupied with the layout of the flat and scrutinizing every corner and checking it against the snapshots of his memory. It was still Sam's shitty flat except for the small pieces of Peter's existence left scattered about like evidence: his discarded shoes or shirts. It was the small ashtray; the one Sam kept for him on top of his bed for what_ had_ been Gene's habitual after-shag-fags that made him feel welcome again.

"Wot's this about?" Sam asked with his arms crossed defensively.

"You tell _me_."

They were locked in a standoff, both refusing to talk while tumbleweeds rolled between them. Sam thought Gene should begin their game of roulette but didn't have the patience to wait. He drew first.

"_Still_ waiting for an apology."

Gene's face twitched with anger. He'd been hit.

"I've said it once Tyler and I'll say it again. I'll not apologize for smacking Carlisle in the gob except to add that I wish it'd been you." Gene took a breath to reload. "You took me for a ride. I thought we had something, but then you go and make a fool out of me and expect me to be okay with it. Well I'mnot."

"Oh that's rich. I made a fool out of _you_?" Sam shot back. "The way you carry on swaggering your bollocks about, always calling me a poof like I was a liability to your 'manliness'? I thought you would jump for joy once I was out of your hair, you arrogant bastard."

"Sam, we _fucked_."

"'Just two horny blokes getting it on'. Your words."

"I know those are my - for Christ's sake. What was I supposed to do strip and sing Stevie Wonder? Maybe a bad choice of words at the _time _but that doesn't mean you go suck off every bender that flashes their eyes at you just to prove a point!"

"He's not a bender, and I didn't do it just to piss you off! I just wanted you to tell me that you cared. You suck in your gut and act like everything's just dandy, I never know what to think. With Peter I know where I stand."

"Don't compare me to that _prick_."

"Just admit you were wrong!"

"I am notwrong. You are a poof! A needy, girly, clingy, relentless pain in my arse -"

Sam swatted the fingers Gene was prodding into his shoulder with every adjective only to mimic the behavior with his own string of insults. "You pretend you're some courageous sheriff but you throw a fit when you don't get your way you daft, selfish, arrogant -"

"-You already said arrogant."

"Because I mean it! _Arrogant_! Hypocritcal, self-serving -"

Sam couldn't remember the next quip he had in store because he suddenly found himself pinned to the wall, his guv plying with hands, teeth, and tongue in the pent up lust of a school boy who hadn't wanked for a full week. He hadn't forgotten Gene's sloppy kisses, how his teeth got in the way and nicked his lips, or how the girth of his tongue demanded all of Sam's mouth. He hadn't forgotten that Gene's first instinct was to paw too-hard at the bulge in his trousers, causing him to writhe in both anxiousness and discomfort.

"I meant wot I said," Sam growled, clawing at Gene's shirt, tearing away at his buttons.

Gene was an animal, caged up with his desire for too long, biting, marking and pressing his urge into Sam like they'd never have the chance again. "_So did I_."

Sam hooked his finger through Gene's belt loop, dragging him towards the bed. "You should still apologize."

The bed creaked under their combined weight as Gene pounced. "Consider _this_ an apology."

There was no more teasing with kisses or messing with shirts, it was straight off with the trousers and even then not all the way. Sam's arse was exposed just enough to feel the fingers Gene had barely remembered to soak in saliva, snaking between his legs and roughly stroking between his cheeks. It was as if his guv had expected him to be ready at the drop of a paisley-patterned tie and the miserable part was Sam didn't resent that.

The first finger slid in with an embarrassing amount of ease, the second with only little resistance as anticipation swept up Sam's spine.

"Fuck, Gene." He grunted into the mess of Gene's hair, inhaling the lingering scent of whiskey and smoke like the strongest aphrodisiac.

"My intentions exactly."

"Knew you'd see it –_unf_-my way, eventually."

"Fraid not, Sammy-boy." Gene's voice lilted in his ears, gentle but still so satisfied with himself it made Sam both angry and desperately turned on. "Mind you when I got that note of yours I didn't think it would end like this. Your idea of foreplay is a bit off, but I'll not complain."

"_Nooo-unh-_note?"

Gene chuckled. "Forgotten it already have you? You little whore. Told me to show up at half past 8, now here we are."

Sam shook his head. Something wasn't right but he couldn't connect the pieces with Gene's fingers in his arse. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you needed a piece of the Gene Genie that's why."

"No I mean –_mmhmm_," he was cut short by Gene's tongue while still struggling to form his thoughts. "Why would I send you a note –_mmmpph_- when you sent _me_ a note saying the same thing?"

Sam's head was reeling with this contradiction when the sound of keys started jingling outside the door. There was no time to fabricate another alibi for their clothes lying guiltily on the floor before Peter Carlisle stepped inside to witness Sam and Gene sprawled across the bed. To even further his confusion Peter didn't look the least bit surprised at this turn of events.

Gene, however, was mortified and hastily tried covering up the affair by unsuccessfully trying to shove his trousers back over himself.

"Doesn't anybody knock anymore?" He barked with all of the menace he could muster. "You know that's why they invented something called a _sodding door_! Should have expected a big nose prat like you to forget something as simple as a little-Hang on." Gene forgot his haste to dress, choosing to emphatically point an accusatory finger at Peter instead. "Were you digging about in me Cortina?"

The door closed quietly behind the DI who proudly held a pair of novelty cuffs lined with faux pink fur. "Didn't think you'd mind since I knew you'd be distracted. But funny thing Mr. Hunt, these look _just_ like the cuffs from the Avery case. Are you confiscating evidence or is there a kink for pink we can explore?"

Gene's grimace barely covered up the flush in his cheeks.

"Peter, don't." Sam warned with a knowing smile, sitting up from the bed, unconcerned his trousers were on the other side of the room. "But now that you're here I've got a question for you. Gene and I both got notes saying to meet each other, notes we didn't write. Know anything about it?"

"Now who would go around playing dirty tricks like that?"

Peter's grin infected Sam who looked to Gene.

The guv was embarrassed to be caught with his pants around his ankles but even more embarrassed that Peter had entreated him to listen and he'd refused. The DI had no idea he was supposed to be transferred but Peter still put everything on the line to make Sam happy. An action like that deserved his respect which became a warm creepy feeling he was starting to confuse with the pleasure of Sam touching him again.

"_What the-_?" Gene shuddered, pulling at Sam's hair as his DI wrapped his flushed pink lips around him.

Sam ignored him, pulling Gene back on to the bed as if Peter had never interrupted at all. Gene landed with a loud creak, his hands thrown above his head which were promptly secured to the end of the bar at the end of the cot by a pair of obnoxious pink cuffs. Sam seemed pleasantly surprised, Gene much less so as he glared up at the impish DI Carlisle hovering above him.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?"

The answer was an insidious glance between Peter and Sam that made him squirm.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I know what you two are thinking. Absolutely _not_."

Sam smothered his good sense with a kiss, rubbing himself against Gene's aching member which wasn't protesting at all.

"This is your apology Gene, remember? To both of us." Sam tugged his cock for emphasis and Gene's excuses turned into moans when he felt Sam's lithe fingers stroking him.

They were a dirty little team, the two of them. Peter peeled off the trousers Gene had tried to put back on while Sam snaked another hand between his exposed legs. He tensed at first, clenching his fists in those stupid cuffs but Sam's easy and gentle fingering quickly made gape for more.

While Sam slipped a long kneading finger inside of him Gene could hear Sam's pants and moans as Peter dragged his tongue over Sam's entrance, plying and teasing with the same expertise that kept Gene on his back thinking of ten good reasons he shouldn't be getting his cock sucked while Sam's boyfriend watched, only to dismiss each one with every stroke of Sam's hands. He could feel the shudder of Sam's body as Peter pleased him and it made Gene ache for him even more, seeing his eyes clenched in ecstasy, his mouth puckered with pleasure. His hips rocked into Sam of their own accord, but Gene couldn't deny he was verbally close to begging for more.

Gene moaned shamefully when Sam wrapped his lips over him again, sucking and teasing but it was too much too soon.

"No. Not like that Dorothy," he warned, trying to sound gruff but breathy with pleasure. "Just…get on with it."

Sam chuckled around him and Gene winced, trying to control himself. With hazy eyes he watch Peter sit up beside Sam who traced his hands over Gene's thighs lovingly before positioning himself. Inch by inch he filled Gene, a process that was much too slowly for his taste.

"Treating me like a pretty doll, you are. Too many nights with Carlisle I reckon."

With a smirk Sam drove into him, making Gene gasp for air.

"I like you like this _guv_," Sam growled, pushing out all sorts of sounds Gene swore he wasn't making. "You look an absolute _wreck_."

There were no more protests. Gene's usually razor-sharp wit was clouded but Sam's sharp thrusts and his tongue was busy muttering "Unf", "Yes", and "Harder, Sam -shit."

He couldn't even stop Peter from reaching around Sam to grab a hold of his need. It was the perfect example of teamwork: Sam's smooth cock, pounding into him, pushing him against those sheets and Peter's smooth fingers stroking and tugging. Together they made him come so hard Gene was sure he'd rip the bar off of Sam's flimsy cot.

Sam slid out of him, greedily tasting Gene's satisfaction on his lips. He watched in the haze of his after glow as Sam leaned over him, sticking his puckered arse up in the air for Peter and uttering such a dirty moan when Peter entered him that Gene felt his already spent cock shudder eagerly. Sam's cock was flushed and pink like his face, wagging beneath him with every thrust of Peter's hips. Gene stared longingly, imagining his own lips wrapped around Sam, sucking and tasting until he spilled into his mouth.

Gene pulled at his restraints in irritation but Sam was otherwise occupied, ignoring his handcuff shuffle.

"Do you like the view?" Peter purred down at him.

"You've got to tilt your hips up," Gene muttered into Sam's chest as his lips brushed his sweat covered body with every thrust. "You're not quite hitting it."

"_Oooooooooooohhhhh_," Sam groaned when Peter got it right.

The sly bastard winked at him and seconds later Sam spilled onto Gene's chest. He watched in disappoint as Sam's pretty pink cock slowly no longer needed his covetous lips. Sam collapsed on him with a long sated kiss and was about to turn his attention to Peter's still hard cock when Gene pulled his handcuffs forcefully, rattling them against the bar of the bed.

"C'mon, off with these. I refuse to be used as a mattress to a couple of rabbits in heat."

Sam looked on in concern as Peter dug through his clothes to unlock his restraints.

"Er, sorry Gene. I thought you were into it, eventually I mean..."

"Never mind what you thought." Rubbing his wrists Gene looked Sam over. "You, I'll deal with later. You," He reached out towards Peter's still hard prick, guiding it towards him like a leash. Peter couldn't help but look nervous as Gene tightened his grip. "I'll get you to call me guv again, one way or another."

Peter shuddered as Gene wrapped his lips around him.


End file.
